



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































JUNE’S QUEST 

HER ADVENTURES ON THE HIGHWAY 







‘■You don’t know how much home can mean to a girl 
WHO HASN’T ANY.— Page 33. 



JUNE’S QUEST 

Her Adventures on the Highway 


BY 

FLORENCE KERIGAN 

W 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

R. Howell Ransley 



• 1 > 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

,l& top If 3, 









TZr 

K*455 


Copyright, 1931, 

By LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


All rights reserved 


June’s quest 


PRINTED IN U.8.A. 

SEP 18 1931 

©CIA 42437 




A SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD 


Oh, who will hit the highway, 

The weedy, dusty, highway, 

The sunny, gusty, highway, 

The highway with me? 

The road is twisting, lithe and brown, 
And wears a gray-gold shawl, 

With patterns where the sun shines down 
And leafy shadows fall. 

The road’s a winding ribbon, flung, 

A clue to pirate gold, 

The moon a silver lantern hung — 

The signal, as of old! 

And romance rides the shady way, 
Before the sun is hot; 

Fair fingers gather boughs of May; 

Knights ride to Camelot. 

5 


And some roads take you far away, 
To Timbuctoo, or Rome, 

Hong Kong, Bangkok, Mandalay! 
And — some lead you to Home! 


So, who will hit the highway, 
The weedy, dusty, highway, 
The sunny, gusty, highway, 
The highway, with me? 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I 

June ...... 

11 

II 

“The Raveled Thread” 

25 

III 

The Romance of a Vanished June 

37 

IV 

In Which They Might, and Again 



They Mightn’t, and They Don’t 

50 

V 

At the Sign of the Weepin’ Willy 

64 

VI 

A Knight Errant and A Maid 



Adream ..... 

79 

VII 

Maggie, the Washlady’s Daughter 

91 

VIII 

“ The Road’s a Winding Ribbon 



Flung ”..... 

104 

IX 

Romany Gold .... 

118 

X 

“ Puck ” . 

135 

XI 

Cuckoo! . 

149 

XII 

“ This Is Very Midsummer Mad¬ 



ness ” . 

164 

XIII 

A Quiet Week-end 

176 

XIV 

“ Romance Rides the Shady Way ” 

192 

XV 

Topazes and Old Gold . 

206 

XVI 

Ashes of Memories 

222 

XVII 

* 

El£gie ...... 

234 

XVIII 

The Story of Olga Sergieff 

248 

XIX 

The Heels of Nicodemus 

262 

XX 

Out of the Mist .... 

275 

XXI 

Sanctuary . 

285 


7 





ILLUSTRATIONS 

“ You don’t know how much home can 
mean to a girl who hasn’t any ” (Page 33) 

Frontispiece 

Facing Page 

“ Take it. Do not refuse a gift ” . . 142 

So she sat down and told him the thrilling 
tale of the haunted house . . .166 

Then she crumpled up in a little heap on 
the grass ...... 274 


9 


JUNE’S QUEST 


CHAPTER I 

JUNE 

June Severne came into her room and flung 
bundles right and left. Two she laid carefully 
on her study table, but the others she allowed to 
remain where they fell. They were intriguing 
bundles: a flat box such as suits and dresses 
come in, two or three flat envelopes with flaps 
thrust through rings to make carrying handles, 
and a big square box such as is used for nothing 
but hats. 

The two precious ones were smaller. One 
held flowers, wrapped in oiled paper through 
which hints of green and pink showed; the other 
was flat and oblong and rather heavy for its size. 
It might have contained gloves, but one had a 
suspicion that if such had been the case, it, too, 
would have joined the hatbox and other parcels 
on the floor. 


11 


12 


JUNE’S QUEST 

She took off her hat, with a quick turn of her 
wrist, ran her fingers through her wavy, bobbed 
hair, and relaxed in her deep armchair for just 
a moment. Then she sprang to her feet and 
disappeared into her bathroom, reappearing in 
a moment with a bowl which she set on the study 
table. 

She opened the oiled-paper wrappings and 
separated the roses, and began to set them into 
the bowl, carefully and slowly, and, somehow, 
lovingly. 

“ What did you get? ” 

“ Let’s see it!” 

“We saw you coming across the campus with 
lots and lots of bundles! ” 

In a moment June’s room was filled with 
chattering girls. There were really only four 
of them, including herself, but they gave the 
impression of being a whole convention. June 
looked up as they all burst in, and cocked an 
eyebrow, quizzically, but her slim, white hands 
continued to hover gracefully like butterflies 
over the roses — blush-pink roses in a powder- 
blue bowl. 

“ Did some one give you those, June? ” asked 
Cathie Costello, the fair one with the impudent, 


JUNE 13 

tip-tilted, Irish nose which scented a romance 
long before one appeared. 

“No, dearest,” lilted June, and paused to bite 
the end off a refractory stem. 

“ You’ll hurt your teeth,” said Diana Mal¬ 
lory, from the depths of the armchair. 

June spat out the chewed green wood neatly 
into her waste-basket. The girls applauded. 

June’s amber eyes twinkled. “ I’ve inherited 
the straight-spitting talent from a whole line of 
tobacco-chewing ancestors,” she told them un- 
smilingly. “ It’s wonderful what heredity will 
do!” 

The girls howled. They recognized the imi¬ 
tation of Joyce Stetson, who boasted about her 
ancestors and their accomplishments. Joyce 
was not much of a favorite, either. 

“ I bought them from a man on the curb,” 
went on June. “ And they could be fresher.” 

“ That’s what it means to have plenty of 
money,” sighed Mary Cole, “ as well as aesthetic 
tastes.” 

“ You’d rather have roses than caramels, too, 
wouldn’t you? ” suggested Cathie, wistfully. 

June chuckled. “ If I couldn’t have both, I 
would. There. How does it look? I won- 


14 JUNE’S QUEST 

der — ” she touched a petal softly with a 
pointed finger. “ I do hope — Di, dear, have 
you an aspirin? ” 

Di fumbled in her pocket. 44 I always carry 
them with me,” she said, in her saddest voice, 
44 for I never know when one of those terrible 
nervous headaches will hit me. It is simply 
agony to be a victim of nerves like mine. I do 
hope you haven’t a headache from shopping so 
long and so hard, June.” 

She finally brought out a couple of crumpled 
handkerchiefs, and one clean, folded one, and 
located the thin box in one of the folds. She 
took out a chalky white tablet and handed it to 
June with an expression of profound sympathy 
on her face. 

44 Not at all,” said June, matter-of-factly, 
and crumbled the tablet between her fingers, 
then dropped it into the blue bowl. Di looked 
slightly horrified, shut the tin box with a sharp 
snap, and put it and the handkerchiefs back 
into her bulging pocket. 

44 Now, they’ll be all right,” said June, cheer¬ 
fully. 44 You are a comfort to have around, 
Di. One never lacks for a pocket-hanky when 
one sneezes, nor a stamp, nor loose change to 



JUNE IS 

give the tea-room waitress or the car conductor. 
You are prepared for every emergency as soon 
as it emerges, aren’t you, old dear? ” 

“ I try to be,” said Di, primly. “ One never 
knows.” 

June swept the papers and bits of stem and 
broken leaf sprays into her basket, then she took 
the bowl and set it on top of her bookcase. 

The girls watched her, silently. June had a 
way of creating beautiful effects. 

“ Did you say caramels? ” she asked, laugh¬ 
ing back over her shoulder. She produced a 
silver candy-basket from somewhere and passed 
it to Di. “ Have some.” 

“ I mustn’t eat caramels. They’re bad for 
my stomach. And they make my teeth ache. 
May I have two? ” 

“ Help yourself, and pass it around. My 
hands are filthy from the rose stems.” She 
gathered up the strewn parcels and took them 
into the bathroom with her. “ I shall emerge 
anon in all my new glory — how does the poet 
say it 4 Like a ghost from the tomb ’ — horrors! 
Like a butterfly from its cocoon! ” 

She shut the door behind her. 

Cathie and Mary Cole came and perched on 


16 


JUNE’S QUEST 

the arms of Di’s chair and dipped into the candy- 
basket. June always had plenty and dispensed 
it lavishly. 

For a while they chewed blissfully. Then 
Cathie’s eye rested upon the photograph of an 
exceedingly pleasant-looking man. 

44 June looks like her father, doesn’t she? ” 

“ M — hm,” assented Mary. “ Especially 
since she’s had her hair cut real short. It waves 
back just as his does. She has the same trick of 
pushing it back with her wrist, too.” 

Cathie sighed, and Mary laughed. 

44 He’s stunning,” drawled Di. “ I don’t 
blame our impressionable little Hibernian 
friend for having the grand pash. I could fall 
for him myself.” 

“ You missed it, Di,” went on Mary, just as 
though she had not told Di the same tale a dozen 
times over. 44 You should have come with us 
to hear his concert. We had more fun! It 
was thrilling to walk into that box just as if we 
owned it. When I go to the theatre on my own 
money I usually go in the peanut. Sometimes 
if the boy-friend is flush we go in the orchestra. 
But a box — ! June’s father sent the tickets 
to her, and told her to bring her friends around 



JUNE 17 

to see him afterward. I was scared to death, 
weren’t you, Cath? But he was awfully nice. 
No wonder she’d rather go off gypsying with 
him than dance herself to death at some summer 
resort! ” 

“ Why didn’t you come with us, Di? ” asked 
Cathie. “ Oh, you had another engagement, 
didn’t you? ” 

“ Yes. The family were coming to West- 
bury to hear Madame Sergieff, so I had to go 
and spend the day and night with them at the 
hotel. Mums would never have forgiven me, 
if I hadn’t. She thinks one’s first duty is to 
one’s family.” 

“ Oh, yes. I remember. Was she good? ” 

“ Oh, yes. Stunning-looking. Black eye¬ 
brows and snow-white hair. I thought it was a 
wig, but the press notices say she is a Russian 
refugee and might even be the Grand Duchess, 
incog., and that her hair turned white in a 
single night. But she is real young. And 
sing! — But she didn’t take us home in a taxi 
afterwards, nor introduce us to a friend, nor 
ask us into her dressing-room. We just 
walked out like every one else.” 

“ I’m just crazy about June’s father,” 



18 


JUNE’S QUEST 

sighed Cathie. “ I won’t ever marry a man 
who doesn’t look exactly like him! You 
wouldn’t think he was over thirty to look at 
him.” 

“ He’s forty,” said Mary. “ June told me.” 

“ He doesn’t look it,” objected Cathie. 
“ He has hardly any gray hair, and he’s quite 
active.” 

“ He would be, at forty,” hooted Mary, 
derisively. 

“ Forty’s old, of course, but not awfully old. 
I mean, not old enough to have to go around in 
a wheel-chair! ” 

“ Of course not. He acted just like a boy,” 
went on Cathie, raptly. “ He took us to a 
quiet little Italian place for supper afterward. 
June wanted to try a place near the theatre, 
where a lot of people were going. We could 
hear the music, and they advertised a special at¬ 
traction, but Mr. Severne said he guessed we 
had had enough music, and that he had discov¬ 
ered this little Italian place which reminded 
him of Venice. It was quaint inside. There 
weren’t many people there. The waiters were 
in costume, and there were Italian flower girls 
going up and down the aisles selling cigarettes 


JUNE 19 

and flowers. He bought us each a bunch of 
violets. Remember, Mary? And he told us 
about Venice and Naples, and the waiter heard 
him and smiled and said something to him in 
Italian, and he answered him.” She sighed 
deeply. “ I have some of the violets pressed 
now, Mary.” 

“ So have I,” nodded Mary. 

“ And then he took us home in a taxi,” went 
on Cathie, “ all the way to the door of the school 
so that Mrs. Milligan would know we were safe 
and sober — ” 

“ Cathie!” 

“ Well, she seemed to think we wouldn’t be! 
She wasn’t going to let us go at first.” 

“ Joyce says the place we wanted to go into 
is a famous night club. She’s been there 
often,” added Mary. 

“ She would! ” sniffed Di. 

“ And you know what Joyce said — or hinted 
— ” said Mary. 

“ Yes,” flared Cathie, “ and I think it’s a 
shame! I don’t know whether June heard or 
not, but I certainly did land all over Joyce. I 
haven’t liked to ask June if she heard — ” 

“ Of course not, Cathie! ” 



20 


JUNE'S QUEST 

“ But I guess she didn’t. She’s been just as 
sweet to her — June has to Joyce, I mean.” 

“ Well, that’s June. Every one isn’t a little 
spitfire like you, Cathie! ” 

“ I fancied that evening that she looked as if 
she had been crying, and she looked worried 
for a while. But whether she heard it or not, 
Joyce had no right to say it. She doesn’t 
know! No one knows! It would be bad 
enough to say if it were true, but just to suspect 
it and tell it — Oh, well. We can’t all be like 
June, but thank goodness we don’t have to be 
like Joyce, either! ” 

“ Sh! ” hissed Di. “ Here she comes.” 

The door opened, and for a moment the girls 
stared, then they gave little squeals of delight. 

“ You adorable thing! Come here and let 
me look at you! ” 

June laughed at them and came into the 
room, turning around like a model in a store. 
She was wearing knickers of heavy brown cor¬ 
duroy, a dark-brown sweater, a tan silk shirt 
with a mannish brown silk tie, brown stockings 
and comfortable old brown oxfords, and a 
brown felt hat of no particular style which she 
wore tilted at a rakish angle. 



JUNE 21 

“You look all set for romance!” cried 
Cathie. Then, as the others laughed: “ But, 
doesn’t she? She looks like Francois Villon in 
the Vagabond King! "' 

Di squeezed her affectionately. “ Incurably 
romantic, isn’t she, June? But you do look 
like a prince in disguise.” 

June laughed. “ I’m glad you like them, 
girls. I’ve bought two more shirts like these, 
and also a leather rain-coat for rainy days, and 
an extra pair of boots. So I think I’ll do. Of 
course the main thing is comfort, but I don’t 
object to looking like a prince in disguise — 
sure you don’t mean a princess, Di? And 
Cathie’s allusion to Francois Villon was rather 
a left-handed, extremely Celtic, compliment. 
Did you mean before or after, Cathie, dear? 
As I remember that gorgeous matinee, Fran¬ 
cois was ragged and terribly in need of a shave. 
Were you suggesting — ? ” 

“ Oh, no! ” gasped Cathie, and then she 
laughed as she saw the twinkle in June’s eyes. 
“ Oh, June, if I ever come across a man with 
eyes and a dashing air like yours, this child will 
be a gone coon! Why weren’t you a boy, 
June? ” 



22 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Because then I couldn’t be a schoolmate 
of yours, Cathie! ” 

“You look so trim and adventurous,” sighed 
Mary. “ I’d give anything if I could do some¬ 
thing like that. I’m sick of the summer resorts 
or nice safe camps! ” 

“ You and I, both,” said Di, emphatically. 
“But the family insists that I must go along! ” 

June smiled rather wistfully. “ It’s fun. 
You never know what’s going to happen next, 
especially since we bought Maryannelizabeth.” 
She picked up the flat package which still lay 
wrapped upon the table. “ I’ve got something 
else to show you.” She threw her hat into a 
chair, and sat on the edge of the table, swinging 
one foot, while she untied the cord and un¬ 
wrapped the white paper. 

Inside was a silhouette — a tall, graceful, 
slender woman, standing by a window, with a 
suspicion of vines about it. The figure was 
black on white, and framed in a flat black frame 
picked out with gold. 

“ Isn’t that lovely? ” breathed Cathie. 

“ It’s adorable,” said Mary. 

“ Sweet,” murmured Di. 

And in the eyes of each was a question. 


JUNE 23 

June saw the question, and she looked at the sil¬ 
houette for a time in silence. She rose, delib¬ 
erately, and set it beside the photograph of her 
father. Then she sat down on the table again, 
and her slender fingers played nervously with 
the string. 

“ I suppose you know,” she began, “ that I 
can’t remember much about my mother. I was 
only two years old when — it — happened. 
But I do remember seeing her standing by my 
window just like that. There were vines 
around it — something sweet-smelling espe¬ 
cially at night, and a moon. And she stood 
there like that — looking out. I’d give any¬ 
thing if I could remember her face.” 

“ And you don’t remember anything else 
about her? ” asked Cathie, her eyes as big as 
saucers. 

“ Nothing at all. So when I saw that silhou¬ 
ette, I just had to have it. It means Mother to 
me — far more than that photo means Dad. 
Just the way Dad’s violin would mean him if 
anything happened. And so — ” she sighed 
a little, and Cathie’s eyes filled with sudden 
tears. 

“ What do you suppose happened to her? ” 




24 JUNE’S QUEST 

asked Cathie, and Di promptly pinched her. 

“ I don’t know, Cathie. Dad never speaks 
of her.” 

A far-away tinkle warned that in half an 
hour dinner would be served in the big dining¬ 
room downstairs. Cathie and Mary and Di¬ 
ana sprang to their feet as if worked by the same 
string, and made for the door. 

“ See you later,” called Mary, as the door 
closed after them. 

For a moment June sat there, swinging her 
restless foot. Then she went to the bookcase, 
and, resting her arms on the top shelf, looked 
into the eyes of her father’s photograph. 

“Is it what Joyce said? ” she asked, and 
there was a thin thread of pain running through 
the wistfulness of her voice. “ I wish you’d tell 
me — just as much as you know! — why I 
haven’t a home like other girls — why we take 
to the road every summer — why you are so 
restless — where Mother went and why? Oh, 
Dad, I want to know why! ” 

The dark head went down on her arms for a 
moment, and the pictured eyes smiled over the 
top of her wavy hair. 






CHAPTER II 


“ THE RAVELED THREAD ” 

School had closed. Diana had gone the 
night before, with a ticket straight through to 
Canada. Cathie and her family were staying 
at the shore. Mary was going to camp. Only 
June was left of the four, and she was waiting 
for her father to come for her with Maryann- 
elizabeth. He might come at any time, too. 

She sat with her chin in her hands thinking 
of Diana and Mary and Cathie, and the fun 
they would have, the gay parties they would 
give. And she would be — would be — She 
flung back her head. She would be gypsying 
with the greatest pal any one ever had, she told 
herself, loyally. 

A step on the porch made her turn. Joyce 
Stetson stood there with her suitcase in her 
hand, and a discontented expression on her 
face. 


25 



26 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ I can’t get a taxi,” she pouted. “ I’ve 
waited and waited.” 

“ Dad will be along presently,” said June. 
“We can take you in Maryannelizabeth if you 
don’t mind. She’s rather asthmatic and has 
the rheumatism in her joints, and she isn’t as 
well upholstered as she was in the days of her 
youth, but she’s fairly comfortable.” 

“ It’s that or walk,” said Joyce, a trifle un¬ 
graciously, but her eyes brightened when 
Maryannelizabeth came panting up the drive 
and stopped at the steps with an apologetic 
cough, as if she were just about to remark some¬ 
thing. June was off the porch before Mary¬ 
annelizabeth had stopped, and her father had 
swung himself over the door without stopping 
to open it. 

“Goodness!” he laughed. “You’re still 
growing, aren’t you? Not too fine to go gyp¬ 
sying with me? Nor too 4 finished ’? ” 

“ Never, Dad! Think of it, Joyce — three 
months of absolute freedom, to be rained on and 
wind-swept, and sunburnt! — Oh — have 
you met my father, Joyce? Miss Stetson, Dad. 
Can’t we take her to the station? Her taxi 
hasn’t come.” 




“THE RAVELED THREAD” 27 


“ Surely,” assented Mr. Severne, gravely, 
and opened the door of the car. He helped her 
dispose of her suitcase and her feet while June 
ran back to say good-bye to Mrs. Gilligan. 
When she came out again, her own suitcase had 
been stowed away more permanently under a 
seat, and her father was at the wheel. 

“ Want to drive? ” he asked as she sprang in. 

“Not now, unless you want to rest? ” 

Maryannelizabeth seemed about to comment 
upon the weather, but started down the drive 
instead. 

“I’d just love to vagabond around all sum¬ 
mer,” said Joyce, suddenly. 

June gasped. 

“ We enjoy it tremendously,” said Mr. Se¬ 
verne, and his lip tightened at one corner 
(which wouldn’t tell much to a stranger but 
which told June that he was holding in a smile). 

“ You stay at hotels, I suppose? ” 

“ Sometimes.” His lips tucked in a little 
tighter. “But usually we just camp where we 
happen to be — make a camp fire, scrape a few 
ferns or balsam boughs together and sleep the 
sleep of the just.” 

Maryannelizabeth nosed her way through a 


28 JUNE'S QUEST 

traffic jam and stopped at the station platform, 
with a sigh of relief, finding a comfortable rest¬ 
ing-place between two empty — accusingly 
empty — taxis. 

Joyce looked at her watch, lingeringly, so 
that the sun could display the diamonds that 
encircled it, and saw that she had five min¬ 
utes to wait for the train. She said they needn’t 
stay, but of course they did, and Joyce told them 
how bored she was with the summer resorts, and 

gave them the history of her ancestor who 

/ 

fought in the Revolution, and one or two more 
who had done other startling things. Any 
one who didn’t know Joyce would say that it 
was impossible to tell so much family history 
in five minutes, but any one who did know her 
and her technique would have said she must 
have been overawed by the presence of Paul 
Severne, the violinist, to tell so little. 

At last the train came, snorting and puffing 
around the bend in the track, and Joyce and her 
suitcase and her ancestors’ good deeds, were 
helped on board. 

“ Good-bye, June darling,” she called baek. 

The train pulled out. Paul set his hat back 
on his head, at a rakish angle. He looked at 



“THE RAVELED THREAD” 29 


June, and June looked at him, and their eyes 
danced. 

“ Let me assist you into the car,” said Paul, 
in imitation of Joyce’s affected air. 

June tried to be severe. “ I’m ashamed of 
you, for making fun of my friend.” 

Paul grinned, a broad, small-boy grin. 

Your friend! I can just see you being a 
friend to that! If I thought you were, I’d lec¬ 
ture you from here to Newburyport.” 

She pressed against his shoulder. “ I 
thought you liked my friends.” 

“ I liked those you brought to hear me play. 
They’re dear little kids. I especially liked the 
little Irish one.” 

“ Cathie. Isn’t she a darling? They’re 
still talking about you and the violets you 
bought us, and the taxi! Di’s nice, too. 
You’ll have to meet her sometime. Her family 
took her to hear Olga Sergieff that night. — Do 
you know Olga Sergieff, Dad? ” 

“ Don’t believe I do.” 

“ I thought you might. You know most of 
the good concert singers. They say she is stun¬ 
ning-looking — a Russian.” 

“ So I should judge. — I feel flattered that 




30 JUNE’S QUEST 

with all these friends, some of whom actually 
have ancestors, and know Russian singers, you 
are willing to bum around with me — ” 

“ Oh, Dad! Why, if it weren’t for this trip 
every summer, I shouldn’t see you at all. And 
I always have such thrilling adventures! 
Something tells me we’re going to have them 
this trip! ” 

“ You usually get your share. You can’t 
do anything in a matter-of-fact way, no matter 
how commonplace the business is. It has to 
take some unexpected quirk as soon as you put 
your fingers in it.” 

“ Aren’t some of my adventures silly? I 
get out my 4 Foolish Adventure Book ’ some¬ 
times and read them over and giggle to myself. 
I often think when I write to you that you have 
something else to do and ought to just throw 
them away unread.” 

44 They’re a welcome spice,” he assured her. 
44 I hope you will never lose that happy faculty 
which — which — your mother had; the faculty 
of seeing the romance and beauty of everyday 
things.” 

He lapsed into silence then, as he usually did 
after mentioning her mother, and she gave her 



“THE RAVELED THREAD” 31 

attention to the road that stretched before them 
like a raveling of brown yarn. A raveled end 
of a knitted romance, she thought to herself, 
whimsically, or a bit of the fringe of an en¬ 
chanted carpet. She decided that when she 
opened her new Foolish Adventure Book she 
would call it the Raveled Thread. A raveled 
thread — a clue to what ? What lay before her 
along that twisting road ? 

All about them the countryside stretched in 
peaceful sunshine, swept by cool breezes. 
Dandelions and white daisies covered the mead¬ 
ows, acres of them — gold pieces, silver pieces, 
louis d’or, Spanish doubloons, pieces of eight, 
the argent of romance, the treasure of the year’s 
June flung with a lavish hand into every dusty 
fence corner. And, far away in the distance 
the hills were blue and intriguing, wrapped 
about with a filmy haze like a chiffon scarf. It 
was good just to sit there and revel in the cool 
breezes and the golden sunshine and the glori¬ 
ous sense of freedom, with no lessons for to¬ 
morrow, not even a stated time to eat nor a cer¬ 
tain place to stop for food! 

Paul was driving rather slowly, and Mary- 
annelizabeth purred like a contented cat. 



32 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Where are we headed for this time? ” asked 
June, suddenly. 

“ Through Pennsylvania.” 

“ Oh.” 

She had thought possibly — just possibly — 
the road would take them to the shore or to Can¬ 
ada. But then — who knew what new friends 
were awaiting her around the corner? 

They stopped at a farmhouse for luncheon. 
It was not a commercial tea-room, just a hos¬ 
pitable private family where the housewife was 
willing to share what she had. To June, ac¬ 
customed to the plain fare of the school, the 
fried chicken, fresh vegetables, green apple¬ 
sauce, pie, and fresh, cold milk, seemed a ban¬ 
quet indeed. 

That was part of the fun of the gypsy life — 
not knowing whether the next meal would be 
eaten at a camp fire in a field, or at a farmhouse, 
or at a foreign-atmosphered tea-room in a city. 
Maryannelizabeth romped through open coun¬ 
try, suburbs, and cities with equal ease. The 
enchanted fringe of the magic carpet slipped 
away beneath her wheels and was hidden in a 
golden glow behind her, and the things along 
the way were ever new. 



“THE RAVELED THREAD” 33 


After luncheon, June and Anna, the oldest 
girl of the family, made a tour of the farm and 
made friends with the animals, including a pet 
goose which followed them and honked deri¬ 
sively at Maryannelizabeth. It was quiet and 
peaceful, there, and the orchard was cool and 
sweet-smelling. But Anna’s eyes were wist¬ 
ful. 

“ I wish I was goin’ with you,” she said. 
“ Always on this place — never gettin’ no- 
wheres — ” 

44 Is it your home? ” asked June. 

Anna’s eyes widened. “ Why — yes.” 

44 Then be glad,” said June, softly. 44 You 
don’t know how much home can mean to a girl 
who hasn’t any. Or how much beauty can 
mean to some city girls. I know some girls 
who would give a great deal to see that.” 

44 What? ” asked Anna, looking in the gen¬ 
eral direction of June’s gaze. 

44 That tree — and the hills.” 

44 The old Bartlett pear? Well — it is right 
pretty.” They walked a little way in silence. 
44 1 like pretty scenes,” she confided, presently. 
44 If I’d ’a’ had the money I could ’a’ went to 
the State Agriculture School this summer. 







34 


JUNE'S QUEST 

Then I could ’a’ took some pictures. A maga¬ 
zine I’m takin’ gives a prize for the best photo¬ 
graph of a pretty scene. But — shucks — ” 

“ Look here! ” June looked at her with the 
animated air which made her chairman of school 
committees that needed action. “You get 
your camera and set it right here, and take a 
picture of that pear-tree. And turn it over that 
way and take a picture of those hills. Then 
take a picture of your house with the roses on 
it. Get your mother to pose at the gate — 
Get the hired man to lead the cow down the road 
— get — ” 

“Mom — hired man — cow?” The girl’s 
eyes expressed alarm. “ Why, they’re just 
home things! ” 

“ Why would a thing be prettier because it’s 
twenty miles away? ” 

“ Why — why — I don’t know but — ” 

“Try it, and send them to the magazine. 
It won’t hurt to try, you know.” 

June’s face glowed with enthusiasm, the sun¬ 
light slanting into her long, amber eyes, and 
her short dark hair blowing around her face, 
and Anna felt somehow that this girl knew 
whereof she spoke. 



“THE RAVELED THREAD” 35 


“ You been all over. Honest, is this place as 
pretty as other places? ” 

“ It’s beautiful. Oh, my dear, my dear, it’s 
home! ” 

“ Ain’t you got no home? ” Anna’s voice was 
husky. “ Is that why you and your paw goes 
around the country all summer? Gee, ain’t 
that too bad? What do you do winters, when 
it gets cold? ” 

“ I go to boarding-school,” said June, quite 
prepared for what would come next. 

“ Boarding-school? Just like the girls in 
books! ” 

“Why, so it is! We’re both like girls in 
books, aren’t we ? I go to boarding-school, and 
you go to the one-room schoolhouse as my fa¬ 
ther did when he was a boy. I’d love to see it. 
Do you have spelling-bees? ” 

“ Yes! And do you have midnight feasts? ” 

“ Sometimes! ” 

Anna smiled. “ We’re just like folks in 
books — you an’ me, ain’t we? There’s your 
paw callin’ you. I’m right sorry to see you go, 
June.” 

“ I’ll send you a card from somewhere,” 
promised June. “ And you send those pic- 


36 


JUNE’S QUEST 

tures to me at school. If we stay in one place 
for awhile I’ll let you know.” 

Maryannelizabeth was panting with eager¬ 
ness to be off, so June hopped in at the wheel. 
June looked back over her shoulder and Paul 
waved his hand, but Anna did not see them. 
She was standing in the middle of the road, 
looking at her home, smothered in climbing 
roses, with her blue-clad mother at the white¬ 
washed gate. 


CHAPTER III 


THE ROMANCE OF A VANISHED JUNE 

June drove all afternoon, over hills, and 
through villages, sleepy in the warm sunshine. 
And when the shadows began to lengthen she 
and Paul looked for a place to camp, for they 
wanted to spend their first night in the open. 
Later when the sultry days came with their sud¬ 
den, violent showers, they could take shelter, 
but now while the glamour of the road was fresh 
upon them they wanted to lie beneath a tree, a 
camp fire at their feet, and look up to the stars. 

They rode right into the sunset, enjoying 
every minute of it. The sky was thrillingly 
beautiful, with the sober tones of winter, al¬ 
though it was mid-June. Down close to the 
horizon it was a warm, rich crimson, and above 
were dull yellows, ashes of roses, clear, pellucid 
jade, argent, and amethyst shading to a sort of 
hyacinth blue. The clouds were black, and 
added a note of mystery and brooding. 

37 


38 


JUNE’S QUEST 

They watched the changing colors shading, 
deepening, lightening, fading, through the 
pointing black fingers of the pines, and felt the 
awe of it steal into their hearts. It was like 
looking through stained glass windows and 
listening to some one playing Souvenir on 
the violin up in an organ loft. 

They were silent as they went along. The 
witchery of the sunset had cast a sort of dreamy 
spell over them. They seemed to be traveling 
a silver road in an enchanted world, with music 
in their hearts, and a strange, mystic, tragic 
glow about them like the sobbing tenor of Rus¬ 
sian music, translated into color. 

At last, as the sky melted into amethyst, 
with one silver star in the midst of it like a bea¬ 
con light, Paul suggested stopping where they 
were. They ran Maryannelizabeth into a lit¬ 
tle grove of trees with a clear space in the mid¬ 
dle, and a noisy stream near by and began to 
make preparations for their night’s sojourn. 

Paul cut wood for the camp fire, plenty, for 
the June nights were still cool, and June made 
the fire and prepared the food they had. Then 
she brought rugs from the car and spread them 
upon the ground, which was rather damp and 


THE ROMANCE 39 

chilly to those not accustomed to sleeping out 
of doors. 

They feasted like kings off toasted-cheese 
sandwiches, some of Mrs. Johnson’s chicken 
and doughnuts, and smoky coffee. All the 
food was flavored more or less with the acrid 
smoke of the green wood, but there was no com¬ 
plaint. In fact, June rather liked it. 

After they had had enough, June leaned 
back against a tree, and watched the stars come 
out, and sniffed the wood-smoke and the sharp 
tang of crushed weeds, mint and wild onions, 
and the smell of the rich brown earth. 

It grew darker, and the camp fire glowed 
like a handful of rubies on a fold of black velvet. 
Now and then her father would throw a fresh 
branch upon it, and it would crackle and snap 
for a time, then die down to red-hot embers 
again. 

In a few days June would be used to the 
quiet, and to the thick black shadows, but now 
there seemed something sinister in the way all 
nature was holding its breath, and mysteries 
seemed to be creeping up to the circle of their 
camp fire. 

She could just dimly see her father, across 


40 


JUNE’S QUEST 

the rosy glow of the fire, and she knew that his 
head was thrown back and he was hearing the 
full symphony of the night. 

“ Dad, — I’d like to ask you something — 
if I may.” 

“ Why the formality? ” laughed Paul. 

“Well — because it’s not— It’s some¬ 
thing we don’t usually mention — 

“ Horrors! I guess I can stand it, however. 
Shoot. I promise not to divulge the secret, 
come what may, under direst torture! Cross 
my heart, honest Injun, and hope to turn into a 
peanut! ” 

“ It’s about Mother.” She waited for a 
reply but none came. “ I’ve been wondering 
— Last winter Joyce said — Joyce said — 
mothers do that sometimes.” 

There was a slight pause. “ Do what? ” 
Paul’s voice came from out of the shadows, and 
June’s keen ear could not tell what emotion the 
calm words hid. “ Do what, June? It’s best 
to speak plainly — whether Joyce did or not.” 

“ Well — get tired of their husbands and 
find their babies too much trouble and — ” 

“ Did Joyce tell you that? ” Paul’s voice 
actually seemed tinged with amusement. 









THE ROMANCE 


41 

“ No. But she said it and I overheard it. 
I wish you could have heard Cathie light into 
her! Of course all the girls know that I have¬ 
n’t any one but you and they are curious about 
— Mother — and I can’t tell them anything. 
I’ve thought of it as a mystery but — not — a 
disgrace.” 

“ And now what do you want to know? ” 
Paul’s voice was cold, as it always was when 
she pried into his affairs. It was unmistakably 
placarded, “ Keep out. No trespassing. Be¬ 
ware the Dog. Mad Bull.” 

But June went on recklessly. “ I want to 
know whether it is true, and what really hap¬ 
pened to Mother.” She said it staunchly 
enough, although her heart beat quickly and she 
caught her breath at her daring. 

There was another short silence, and then 
Paul’s voice in a different tone. 

“ I suppose you have been wondering. You 
are growing up. It is painful to me, June — ” 

“ I know, Dad, but — ” 

“ Wait. I ll tell you some of it.” 

“ You are like your mother in many ways — 
not in looks, but in personality. I met her at 
college. I was playing in the orchestra and she 








42 


JUNE’S QUEST 

sang in the glee club. When the combined mu¬ 
sical clubs went on tour we were thrown to¬ 
gether quite often. We worked out a few 
songs together and had a little ‘ act ’ of our own 
which was always well received. We worked 
together and we played together. She was the 
finest pal a man ever had. 

“After we graduated, we married, and 
toured the country-side giving concerts, and 
having fun. She was like you — she could see 
the fun in the commonplace mishaps, and many 
a time her lilting laugh — her elfin chuckle 
would turn tragedy into comedy, and discour¬ 
agement into a keen zest to play the game to 
the finish in spite of obstacles. 

“We spent two summers that way. The 
next summer we stayed at home, for I had a 
regular position with an orchestra as soloist. 
But the following summer, when you were two 
years old, we went to Europe, and spent the 
whole two months of June and July, traveling 
through the old world in a brightly colored 
gypsy cart with a donkey named Anatol. 

“ That’s the way to see Europe, June — laze 
through it on foot or with a donkey, especially 
a very temperamental donkey like ours. 



THE ROMANCE 43 

“ In August we reached a little town, a town 
of steeply pointed roofs, of narrow, twisting, 
cobbled streets, down which girls in flaring 
white headdresses drove flocks of geese. I can 
still see the girls’ fluttering red skirts, and hear 
their wooden shoes clacking along in time to 
the geese’s honking. 

“ I can see one house in particular, reached 
by a particularly villainous stretch of steep, 
sharply paved street. It had a high, pointed 
gable, and quaint latticed windows, and a flag- 
stoned floor inside with a deep, century-old 
fireplace where generations of grand 3 meres and 
grandperes had bickered querulously through 
the twilight of their years, and busy housewives’ 
spinning-wheels had hummed, and youths and 
maids had whispered shy nothings to each other, 
and dreamy-eyed mothers had crooned lulla¬ 
bies to their wee ones and seen visions in the 
flames. And there were old pewter flagons, 
and burnished brasses that caught the glow of 
the flames in the old stone fireplace. 

“ Near by there was a canal which flowed 
peacefully along under willows, mirroring them 
exactly. We liked to walk there in the moon¬ 
light — Olive and I, while the housewife cared 


44 


JUNE’S QUEST 

for you asleep in the little chamber under the 
pointed gable. 

“ One evening, while we walked, we heard a 
sudden commotion, something like distant thun¬ 
der, with a rattle of rain. We stopped and lis¬ 
tened. 

“ Then came a shrill whine, followed by a 
deafening explosion. The unexpectedness of 
it stunned us for a moment, then we realized 
that the whole town was in flames, and that the 
church in the quaint square, and the square it¬ 
self, were but a single shapeless mass of ma¬ 
sonry from which the dust still rose. Above the 
crackle of the flames we could hear the screams 
of women and the muffled oaths of men, and 
then they poured out of every doorway and ran 
to the burning buildings. One of them was 
the house in which we had left you. 

“ Olive recovered first and realized the dan¬ 
ger and got her bearings. ‘ The house! ’ she 
screamed. ‘June is there!’ I left her and 
ran. I tore up that narrow street, leaping 
over debris and taking chances under totter¬ 
ing walls, and into the flaming building. A 
bucket brigade had been formed and the price¬ 
less old furniture was being carried out. Some 


THE ROMANCE 


45 


of it was piled in the crooked stairway. But I 
stopped for nothing. I could hear you scream¬ 
ing upstairs and nothing could have held me 
back. 

“ I found you unharmed, only frightened by 
the strange excitement and the loud noise. I 
gathered our things together hastily and took 
you out, and gave you into the care of the half- 
crazed' grand’ mere, giving her something to 
do beside look on at the destruction of her 
home. And then I helped those gallant men 
to do what they could. That place was doomed, 
but the next houses were saved. It was 
morning when we were through, although it 
seemed almost a worthless undertaking, for 
the news came that a neighboring city was be¬ 
ing bombarded and that stray shells might 
come again and finish the work. We could 
hear the heavy booming of the big guns quite 
plainly when we stopped to take breath. 
When the last, flickering spark had been 
quenched, we thought of breakfast, and the 
men went to their homes. I took you from the 
grand’mere , who sat crushed in the ruins, and 
began a search for your mother. The search 
has continued to this day.” 


46 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ But, what happened? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Where could she have gone? ” 

“ I don’t know. But I am sure she is not 
dead. If she were, something inside me would 
know it. That is why I know so many profes¬ 
sional singers, and why I accept all the public¬ 
ity I can get for myself. I hope that some 
time our trails will cross. That is why we take 
to the road each summer. But it is becoming 
increasingly difficult. A trail can be lost en¬ 
tirely in a month in a city like New York. 
Think then what can happen in fifteen years, 
with the whole of America to consider — work¬ 
ing on the supposition that she found her way 
back to America.” 

“ You’d think she would go to our old home, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

“ I did think that. I went there at once. 
She has dropped out of life as completely as 
if the earth had swallowed her up.” 

“ Her friends and relatives-” 

“ They haven’t heard from her. They con¬ 
sider her dead. But I know better. They 
think I am slightly ‘touched’ on the matter, but 
I don’t care. I know. It may be, of course, 




THE ROMANCE 47 

as Joyce says, that she found life with me in¬ 
tolerable -” 

“ Oh, Dad! How could she? ” 

“ Would you? ” 

“ Of course not! And I’m sure she didn’t! 
You were the man she married! Don’t you see 
she couldn’t? ” 

“ Yes, I do see. And so I have not lost 
hope.” His voice trailed away to silence. He 
reached over to put another branch on the fire 
and the flames lighted up his face. It looked 
old and sad. 

June’s mind was in a whirl. The mystery 
was a mystery, not a sordid scandal; the haunt¬ 
ing uncertainty was gone, and she trusted her 
mother as Paul did. She remembered the in¬ 
vitations to go to Canada and to the shore and 
to camp, and she was glad that she had refused. 
Poor, lonely Dad! Living in silence, with a 
horrible memory like that — chasing false clues, 
following blind trails, failing and starting all 
over again. 

“ I’ve heard people say your music came 
from a broken heart,” said June, softly, “ and 
I believe it does.” 

“ More than you know. It transformed me 



48 


JUNE’S QUEST 

from a jazz vaudeville artist to a soloist in a 
symphony orchestra. It changed me from a 
boy touring the country for fun, to a man 
working for love. In a way, it was worth it. 
Why, Kid!” For she had come swiftly 
through the shadows and flung herself against 
him, gripping him fiercely. He felt her sob¬ 
bing stormily, and he swallowed twice — 
hard. 

“ I’m so glad it wasn’t as Joyce said,” she 
cried, a little wildly, 44 but how horrible! ” 

“ We’re doing everything we can,” he said, 
gently. 44 So don’t think any more about it. 
It all happened a long time ago, you know, 
and it doesn’t help to worry about it now. I 
wouldn’t have told you at all, only you needed 
to have an answer for all the Joyces there are 
in this world.” 

44 I’m glad to know — and I don’t see why I 
ever doubted her — knowing you.” 

44 Then don’t think about it any more. Roll 
up in your blanket and go to sleep. I’ll see 
that the fire goes out safely.” 

44 All right. Don’t stay up too late.” 

44 1 won’t. Good night, June.” 

But the fire died down to black embers, cov- 



THE ROMANCE 


49 


ered with a light film of gray dust of ash; the 
shadows were blacker than ever. And after a 
long while the moon came up and balanced it¬ 
self on the top of a pine and threw a silver sheen 
over the velvet shadows, and he still sat there 
by the symbolic dead ashes of his fire. Through 
his mind marched a line of grizzled men with a 
crowd of women and children running after 
them, their wooden shoes clacking on the 
sharply paved, steeply climbing street that ran 
between quaint houses with latticed windows 
and pointed roofs, a crowd that shouted and 
wept, and sang the Marseillaise. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT, AND AGAIN THEY 
MIGHTN^T, AND THEY DOnT 1 . 

There is nothing else quite so alluring as the 
sunlight of early morning, slanting through the 
leaves and plunging into the depths of a quiet 
pool. At no other time in the day is the sun¬ 
light so golden, at no other time are the leaves 
so fragilely green and tender, at no other time 
is the pool so full of beckoning lights and shad¬ 
ows. 

June had decided the night before, that the 
mirror-like pool was deep — deep enough for 
swimming, anyway, and now she stood poised 
upon an out-flung ledge of rock, a slim, red- 
clad figure against the gray of the rock and the 
green of the dwarf trees about her. But in the 
act she paused, surveyed the calm surface, and 
then came down from the ledge, and waded into 
the water. In a moment she was lost, except 
for her red cap which floated on the top like a 

so 



IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 51 

large red water-lily bud. Then even that dis¬ 
appeared, stayed under for a few seconds, and 
then emerged closer to shore. She drew herself 
up to the bank and climbed the ledge again. 
This time she finished her dive, cutting the air 
in a clean arc, and striking the water in the 
middle of the pool where it was deep. 

When she came up she saw her father on the 
shore and waved a dripping arm at him. She 
swam in toward him. 

“ It’s great for diving, Dad! The bottom is 
just as clean as if it had been swept. Try it 
from the ledge.” 

Paul looked at the ledge and then at the pool, 
and he clambered up the rough rock. 

“ Here’s a new dive a Swedish instructor 
taught me at the Y. M. last winter! ” he shouted. 
“ Watch! ” 

June laughed at his unconscious attitude of 
a small boy showing off, and watched. It was 
a beautiful dive, and she applauded. 

“ I’m a little too heavy,” he said, shaking the 
wet hair out of his eyes. “ There was a girl at 
one of the exhibition meets — a tall, fair, slim 
girl. She could dive like an arrow from a 
bow, and it was like listening to music just to 



52 


JUNE’S QUEST 

watch her. Youtry.it. It’s a striking ex¬ 
hibition dive! ” 

They climbed out upon the bank again and 
both mounted to the ledge. He explained the 
way her shoulders should move, and cautioned 
her against flinging them too much, as she might 
strain her back. Then she tried it. The first 
time fizzled, and she performed what Paul 
called a “ spread-eagle dive,” barely saving her¬ 
self from hitting the water a breath-taking 
whack. 

She climbed out and tried it again, with 
rather better success this time. With two more 
attempts she had mastered it, and could do it 
better than her father, who watched her with 
delight. 

“ That will be a good stunt to spring on the 
girls! ” she laughed. “ I can just see Cathie 
trying it! Cathie always shuts her eyes when 
she dives and she reminds us of a rubber ball 
bouncing. She’s so round and fat. She just 
throws herself in and comes up puffing and 
snorting and sort of wallows over to the edge of 
the pool. We nearly die laughing at her, and 
the new swimming instructor almost had hys¬ 
terics the first time she saw her 4 dive.’ She 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT S3 

says she’s going to reduce this summer if she has 
to starve to death! Poor Cathie! She laughs 
too much ever to get thin! ” 

Paul took a sidelong glance at her as she 
sat on the ledge and looked out over the sun- 
flecked water. There was a wistfulness in her 
eyes that made him wonder. June was changed 
this summer, with an indefinable something 
about her which reminded him poignantly of 
her mother. 

She roused herself with a little shake. “ We 
really ought to eat this morning,” she laughed. 
“ You can swim around a little more, and I’ll 
see about breakfast.” 

“ There’s wood all ready, June. I think I 
shall take another dip.” But still he sat there 
in the sunlight, looking into the brown and 
gold depths of the pool, and seeing instead the 
silver band of a calm canal and the black and 
silver of moonlit willows. 

When he returned, June was dressed and 
bustling about the fire, which did double duty 
by drying her wet bathing suit and cooking 
bacon on a stick. He sniffed the fragrance of 
coffee, and traced it to the battered coffee-pot 
which had been removed to a less dangerous 


54 JUNE’S QUEST 

place on the edge of the fire, having boiled 
over and nearly put out the blaze. Now it was 
percolating with little gulps and gurgles. 

Paul hung his bathing suit beside June’s 
where it began to steam, and putting his hands 
in his pockets surveyed the scene. He smiled 
at the removed coffee-pot, and June’s flushed 
cheeks, and the blowing strands of her ruffled 
hair. 

“You look as if you’ve just been having a 
thick time,” he remarked. 

“ I did,” she chuckled. “ The coffee boiled 
over, and the bathing suit fell off the limb and 
caught the end of the bacon stick and hurled it 
into the fire. But I rescued everything in time. 
The fire’s still in, and the bacon’s just a wee bit 
scorched, and if I have to I can go swimming 
again to wash the ashes off the bathing suit. 
Aside from that everything’s — ouch! — 
hotsy-totsy now! Sit down there and I’ll let 
you toast the bread.” 

He obediently sat down amid the mint and 
wild onions and held a slice of bread on a stick 
over a flame. 

June fished roasted eggs from the hot ashes, 
and passed him a slice of bacon, and breakfast 




IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 55 

was on the way. The aromatic weeds and the 
fresh air and the wood smoke were all inex¬ 
tricably mixed with the natural flavors of the 
toast and egg and bacon. 

June smiled suddenly, then as her father’s 
eyebrows lifted questioningly: “ I was just 

thinking what Di would say if she were here! 
She is the healthiest person you can imagine, 
but she’s always on her guard against some¬ 
thing terrible — nervous sick headache or in¬ 
digestion or typhoid. She’s afraid to pick au¬ 
tumn leaves because she doesn’t know which are 
poison ivy, and she’s too wary to take a chance. 
She would think this bacon was poisoned for 
sure, and taste arsenic in the coffee. What do 
you suppose is in this coffee, Dad? Doesn’t it 
taste queer? ” 

“ Smoke probably. Did you throw out the 
grounds?” 

“ Why — no. Should I have done so? ” 

“ Sure. Did you put more in? ” 

“No. I just poured water in it.” 

Paul laughed. “ As a camp-fire artist you 
may not be much of a success, but you’d be the 
delight of a Scotchman’s heart! ” 

June laughed with him, and chewed medi- 



56 JUNE’S QUEST 

tatively. It was like Dad to joke gallantly, 
and to make no reference to the story he had 
told the night before. She admired him all 
the more for his casualness, for even though it 
was an old story to him, the telling of it had 
aroused sleeping memories and opened old 
wounds. 

Breakfast over, they washed the coffee-pot, 
rolled up the now dry bathing suits, threw a 
cup of water on the dead ashes of the camp fire, 
just to make sure, and took to the road again. 

Their way led through pleasant fields and 
rolling hills, with here and there bright threads 
of streams wandering wilfully through green 
meadows where cows looked at them and 
chewed ruminatively. At intervals they 
passed farmhouses, some of them run down 
and sadly in need of paint, others well kept and 
prosperous-looking, with flowers in the door- 
yards, and shady trees over rocky spring- 
houses. 

At noon they stopped at a village which 
boasted a hotel, and had their lunch. And they 
gave Maryannelizabeth a nice drink of cold 
gasoline which she seemed to appreciate. 

A group of loafers at the garage asked ques- 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 57 

tions about their route and why they were trav¬ 
eling that way, and gave conflicting information 
when Paul asked them the distance to the near¬ 
est town. 

“ Can we make it to-night? ” asked Paul. 

44 Well, ye might,” said one of them, eyeing 
Maryannelizabeth dubiously. “ And then 
again, ye mightn’t.” 

“ That,” said Paul, solemnly, 44 is always a 
more or less remote contingency.” 

“ Sure ye kin,” said another. “ I bet ye! ” 

“ It depends on what ye’re sellin’,” hinted 
another, looking curiously into the back seat. 
44 An’ how long it’ll take ye at every place ye 
stop.” 

44 Course ye kin,” said an old man, queru¬ 
lously, his spiky beard making a circular mo¬ 
tion before his face as he chewed industriously. 
He spat neatly. 44 Why, many’s the time be¬ 
fore the Civil War-” The others inter¬ 

rupted him with hoots and shouts of derision. 

44 In case ye try to make it,” said the garage 
man, leisurely, leaning against his gasoline 
pump, 44 ye can make better time if ye turn off 
at the crossroads. Ye go right on till ye come 
to a range of hills quite some piece away, but 



58 


JUNE’S QUEST 

ye can see ’em, ye understand. The road ye’re 
on now is white, but this here now crossroad is 
red clay. (Ain’t that one o’ these here now 
quincidents ?) Right there at the crossroads is 
an old house what folks says is ha’nted. It’s 
got a weepin’ wilier in the front yard. Take 
the left branch of that there now red road, an’ 
it’ll fetch ye out at the town. How’s the air 
in yer chubes? ” 

“ An’ that’s the kind o’ fellers we had in 
them days,” finished the old man in his quavery 
voice, his beard making a series of agitated 
circles before his face, and he spat neatly into 
the dust. 

“ Is the house haunted? ” June asked the old 
man. 

The bleared old blue eyes lightened. 

“ Eh? Ha’nted? Whut-fur house, eh? ” 

“ The house at the crossroads! ” yelled the 
garage man. 

“ Oh, eh. I’m a mite deaf in me ears. 
Ha’nted? That it is. I’ve seen the ha’nt 
meself, what’s more. Second sight I’ve got. 
It run’t in me fambly for years back. We seen 
things mortal eyes don’t of-ten see.” 

“ How many drinks had you had when ye 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 59 

seen ’em? ” asked one of the men, with a wink 
at the others. 

“ A big, black figger it is, like a shadow, 
sorter. An’ it howls — 4 Oo-wow,’ it goes — 
4 Oo-wow! ’ like that! ” 

The men went into convulsions, blit the old 
man went on placidly. “Ye know ye’re in a 
ha’nted house be the looks of it — with the old 
weepin’ willy tree in the yard, an’ the deserted 
look to the place. Nobody’ll live in it. 
Sperrits.” 

“ Yeah,” scoffed the garage man. “ The 
kind what comes out of a bottle. Me, I don’t 
believe in no sperrits.” 

44 Oh, ye don’t, don’t ye,” shouted the old 
man, unexpectedly hearing. “ Then it’s a 
hurrytick’s whut ye are. A hurrytick — one o’ 
them there on-believers. Not believin’ in 
sperrits what I’ve see wid me own eyes.” 

“ But what’s the story of it? ” asked June. 

The old man glared defiance at the garage 
man, and then spat indignantly into the road, 
before he answered. 44 I don’t jes’ remember. 
’Twas along about the time o’ the Civil War. 
A young girl lived there be the name of — 
Sally — Sally — Wait an’ it’ll come to me — 







60 


JUNE’S QUEST 

Sally Anne Peters her name were! She was 
goin’ to marry a young felly, an’ he went off to 
war. The Civil War it were. Aye. He was in 
the same comp’ny as I was meself. An’ he was 
kilt an’ she never got over it. Broke her heart. 
Since then she’s ha’nted the place. A big black 
shadow it is, with a wailin’ an’ a clankin’ o’ 
chains.” 

He lapsed into silence, his faded blue eyes 
seeing again the young chap who had marched 
away with him when all the world was young 
and gay. 

“ Well, thanks, anyway,” said Paul, and 
Maryannelizabeth began to cough. 

The old man formed a topic for half-humor¬ 
ous raillery for part of the afternoon. Paul 
knew some other funny old men, and he told 
June about them, with the tenderness with 
which one tells of very small children. 

“ I suppose when we get old we’ll sit around 
the firesides and tell about the time we fought. 
And our grandchildren will roll up their eyes 
and sigh when we begin. Only instead of 
Manassas and Gettysburg and Lookout Moun¬ 
tain, it will be the Marne, and Argonne, Chat¬ 
eau Thierry, and Belleau Wood.” 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 61 

And then they told ghost stories, and at the 
psychological moment, Maryannelizabeth 
picked up a tack, and suffered horribly. 

Paul put an emergency first-aid patch on her 
front off wheel, and told her she was perfectly all 
right. But she knew better, and insisted upon 
limping. And then to complicate things the sky 
clouded over and thunder rattled ominously. 

“ We can’t make town, after all,” he frowned. 
“ Guess it’s us for the haunted house. What 
say, June? Game? ” 

“Pooh!” laughed June. “Who cares? 
I’m not afraid of a spook. I never saw one, 
did you? That tale sounded fishy, too. Who 
ever heard of the ghost of a young girl being a 
big black shadow, wailing and dragging a 
chain? I’d rather meet the ghost than attempt 
to sleep outside to-night, anyway.” 

Paul looked at the piling clouds. “ Impos¬ 
sible,” he said firmly. “ Sleeping outside is 
not to be thought of! ” 

Maryannelizabeth limped along, and the sky 
became more and more overcast. The clouds 
turned a lurid, sulphurous yellow, split now 
and then by a blue flash of lightning. The 
whole world was lit up by the unearthly 


62 


JUNE’S QUEST 

glare which made the grass and trees a vivid 
green and lent an air of unreality to the whole 
scene. 

Then came the downpour, and Mary- 
annelizabeth had just time to stagger valiantly 
through the gateposts of a house and into the 
shelter of a shed. June ran for the porch, leav¬ 
ing Paul to follow with his precious violin 
caught up under his raincoat together with 
some of the perishable articles of food. 

There in the friendly shelter of the porch 
June noticed for the first time the desolate ap¬ 
pearance of the house. It was unpainted, with 
sagging doors and shutters hanging by one 
hinge, and in the dooryard stood a melancholy 
tree, a willow-tree, its long, green branches 
waving to and fro like the hair of some drowned 
mermaid. It struck a chill to her heart as she 
surveyed it. There was something eerie and 
gruesome about the whole deserted place that 
made June falter on the threshold. 

But she shook off her feeling of depression as 
her father returned after a second dash for 
provisions, and she stood in the doorway, invit¬ 
ing him to enter with an hospitable gesture. 

“ You are welcome,” she said, “ to what we 


IN WHICH THEY MIGHT 63 


have. We try to make you welcome and com¬ 
fortable at ‘ The Sign of the Weepin’ Willy ’! ” 
And even as she said it, she felt a gruesomeness 
that seemed almost to cause her hair to rise. 


CHAPTER V 


AT THE SIGN OF THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 

“ 4 The Sign of the Weepin’ Willy echoed 
Paul, and looked around him. He noted the 
weeping willow tree in the rainwashed front 
yard, the discouraged droop of the front gate, 
the river of white clay and water which mingled 
with a river of red clay and water where the 
two roads came together, and he understood. 
44 The haunted house! ” he laughed. 44 And it 
looks the part. Are you game, June? Or 
shall we push on after it stops raining? ” 

44 It isn’t going to stop,” said June, with a 
weather-wise look at the sky. 44 No, I don’t 
mind staying here all night.” She repressed a 
shudder as the chill hand of foreboding clutched 
at her heart. 44 Whew! It smells musty and 
mouldy in here, doesn’t it? I’ll bet it hasn’t 
been aired in a month of Sundays! ” 

They passed through the damp hall and into 


64 


THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 65 

a somewhat lighter room with a fireplace in it. 
The light which came through the curtain of 
falling rain was cold and bleak, but there was 
at least no view of the gruesome drowned wil¬ 
low mermaid in the front yard. They decided 
to make that room their headquarters, and con¬ 
tinued their tour of exploration. They found 
wood in abundance in a lean-to by the back 
door, and a tall candle in the kitchen. So, after 
Paul had made a final trip to the car for rugs 
and cushions, they made themselves comfort¬ 
able. 

The big, bare room became more cheerful 
after the fire had taken the chill off the air, and 
as dusk fell it became actually cozy, with a 
sense of warmth and comfort and protection 
against the rain which swished against the win¬ 
dows and rattled on the roof. The fire crackled 
merrily, and the glow of the flames danced over 
the walls, and made rosy flickers in the black 
window panes. 

Paul, sitting on the floor, with his arms 
around his knees, looked across at June who 
half reclined on a rug, resting her weight on 
her elbow. 

“ Here’s another adventure for your book,” 


66 


JUNE’S QUEST 

he grinned. “ A night in a haunted house. 
If the ghost walks, I trust you to write a full 
description of it, and to keep your head no 
matter whether the ghost has hers or not.” 

June pretended to be skeptical. “ Pshaw! 
Spooks! ” 

“ It’s strange,” went on Paul, thoughtfully, 
“ the fear that people have for the supernat¬ 
ural. There are the voodoos of the negro, and 
their medicine men and witch doctors; the nats 
of the Burmese, and hundreds of other super¬ 
stitions of heathen races. And even the civil¬ 
ized nations are not immune. 

“ The Irish are particularly superstitious. 
They have a whole mythology about the little 
folk, who were supposed to have been angels, 
and were banished for some reason, and com¬ 
pelled to live in hills called slices. Some were 
good and some were bad, and they frequently 
warred with each other. Sometimes the strife 
was so fierce that the meadows were drenched 
with blood. The Irish lived in terror of them, 
for accidentally to overhear fairy music might 
doom unlucky eavesdroppers to insanity. Or 
they might be bewitched, made to dance all night 
to the sound of fairy pipes, or used as steeds for 


THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 67 


some hobgoblin’s nocturnal wanderings and 
left exhausted at daybreak. And of course 
the wail of the banshee has become a figure of 
speech. The dullaghans were terrible crea¬ 
tures, too. They haunted cemeteries and 
played football with each other’s heads. And 
woe to the luckless man who saw one of them! 

“ Other countries have their superstitions, 
too. A particularly michievous ghost comes 
from Germany. Pie is called f poltergeist / 
and loves to play malicious tricks on unsuspect¬ 
ing people — such as pulling their hair, snatch¬ 
ing chairs from under them, pinching them, 
etc. 

“ Even in present days, it is a sorry village 
which does not have at least one haunted house, 
and every castle in Europe has some tradition 
of a white lady or a knight in armor or similar 
specter which appears at certain times. 

“ It is strange that we all have that ecstatic 
horror of ghosts. I have heard gray-haired 
men seriously arguing about the existence of 
spirits, and swapping experiences which they 
claim are true.” 

“ What do you think, Dad? ” 

He smiled. “ I don’t know. The longer 



68 


JUNE’S QUEST 

you live, June, the more you will realize that 
man’s knowledge is limited — very limited even 
in physical matters, and that he is a child when 
it comes to understanding psychic things, in¬ 
cluding religion. The Irish have what that old 
soldier to-day called ‘ second sight.’ They see 
things that the average less finely attuned, or 
more practical person, does not see. But the 
fact that an unemotional, practical chap doesn’t 
believe in fairies and good and evil spirits, never 
having seen any, doesn’t prove that there are 
no such things. A man without sight might 
argue that there is no such thing as light, a 
color-blind man might say there are no varying 
colors. We know differently because we are 
so constructed that we can see. Whether there 
is a more perfect spiritual sight than most of 
us have, or whether those who claim to have 
seen spirits are merely victims of hallucinations, 
I don’t know. But the study of primitive folk¬ 
lore is an interesting study. Get a book of 
Irish myths some time. They are delightful.” 

“ Did you ever see a spirit, Dad? ” 

“ No.” 

“ We tell ghost stories at school sometimes,” 
said June, “ and Cathie’s eyes get so big and 



THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 69 

round, and she shivers and her teeth chatter, 
and she has nightmare all night. But yet she 
will listen! ” 

“ Sure. That’s the Celt. But there, we 
shouldn’t have started on this subject at all. 
You’ll be having all kinds of wild dreams to¬ 
night.” 

“ Hardly! There’s no Celtic strain in me! ” 

“ Perhaps not, but there’s a wide streak of 
the mystic in you, or I miss my guess.” 

“ Mystic? ” Somehow June had always 
connected the word with magnetic-eyed Indian 
fakirs. “ In me? Why?” 

“Well — for instance — your love of na¬ 
ture. You look at a tree and it means some¬ 
thing more than a plant.” 

“ The drowned mermaid,” leaped suddenly 
from June’s lips, and she laughed at her father’s 
blank look, and explained. 

“ There, you see? Mysticism.” 

“ Dreaminess, in other words.” 

“ Partly. That faculty which permits a 
person to see a thing and penetrate to a deeper 
meaning behind it — rhythm of purpose in the 
universe.” 

“ Oh, I think I understand. Then poets and 




70 JUNE’S QUEST 

musicians and dancers and artists would be 
mystics? ” 

“ If they go beneath the surface of things, 
yes. And preachers, and teachers, and scores 
of others in greater or lesser degree.” 

She laughed. “ I’ll tell Miss Morehouse that 
when she accuses me of woolgathering again. 
Thanks for the lecture on — er — anthropol- 
ogy, psychic phenomena, and metaphysics.” 

“ You’re growing up,” remarked Paul, so¬ 
berly. “ Don’t bother your head with such 
double-jointed words. — I think it’s time we 
went to bed. Think the rain and the weighty 
discourse will keep you awake? ” 

“ I guess not,” she said, valiantly. 

Not for worlds would she have confessed 
that she dreaded being alone in that bare up¬ 
stairs room, with the morbid willow keeping 
tryst with a ghost in the front yard! She lis¬ 
tened to the rain hissing against the window 
panes and dripping from the eaves. 

“ No,” she repeated. “ I’ll go right to sleep, 
Dad.” 

“Take up an extra rug, June, in case it 
gets colder in the night.” 

She held out an arm and he laid 


a rug across 





THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 71 

it, and tucked a cushion under the other arm. 

“ I’ll be in the room across the hall,” he went 
on, “so if the spook gets you, just yell, and 
I’ll be Johnnie-on-the-spot.” 

“ I’m not afraid,” she repeated, with a laugh. 
“ And no spook will get me! ” She brandished 
her flashlight, and then had to retrieve her 
cushion. 

“ Well, if you see one, don’t be selfish about 
it. Call me so I can see it, too! Night, 
June.” 

June sighed as she surveyed the hardwood 
floor and her rug, but decided to make the best 
of it. She rolled up in her rug, and flung the 
extra one down near by, within reach, then 
with the cushion under her head she prepared to 
sleep. 

She determined to keep her mind away from 
the topic of ghosts, but it was not easily con¬ 
trolled. Again and again she caught herself 
listening for something, and straining her eyes 
through the gloom, and almost imagining she 
heard things. She lectured herself severely 
about it. 

“ You’re being very silly! Now forget about 


it!” 


72 


JUNE’S QUEST 

She was singularly wakeful, although she 
had arisen early that morning. Her mind was 
busy creating things, and worried the ghost sub¬ 
ject like a terrier worrying a bone. 

“ Goodness,” she thought, “ I wonder if 
writers of ghost stories feel like this when they 
are creating their shapes of darkness. . . . 

“ I believe I could write one. Wouldn’t it 
be fun to plan a ghost story right here in the 
haunted house and write it and sell it for hun¬ 
dreds of dollars without telling Dad anything 
about it until the check came? Wouldn’t he 
be surprised? 

“ Let’s see — 4 The Enchanted Room ’ — a 
room in an inn — old-time, Revolutionary or 
F rench — villainous innkeeper — traveler — 
charming room. The sleeper wakes in the 
middle of the night and sees room completely 
changed — windows smaller, doors twisted 
about, furniture unfamiliar, and in center of 
the room, phantoms holding horrid revels. 
The principal character should be a man — a 
handsome young man — who is touring the 
country in a car named Anatol. He comes to 
a picturesque inn and asks a night’s lodging. 
The innkeeper gives him this room. The inn- 








THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 73 

keeper should be a queer sort of person — sin¬ 
ister— that’s a good word. (Isn’t it fun to 
plot stories?) And the room should be dark, 
with little latticed windows. In the front yard 
is a tree — a willow, with its green hair stream¬ 
ing in the wind. 

“ The traveler goes to bed and awakes in 
the middle of the night and sees the moonlight 
in a square on the floor, and in the middle of it 
two dullaghans are playing football with their 
heads — No, that won’t do. That’s typically 
Irish, and this scene is laid in France. The 
phantoms would be — would be — courtiers of 
the time of Louis XIV fighting a duel for a 
lady, and the lady would be sitting in terror 
looking on. And she would be so beautiful 
that the young man would fall in love with her. 
And he would come back each year to see her 
phantom in the room, and at last commit sui¬ 
cide because she could not love him and he 
could not embrace her ghostly form. Trag¬ 
edy! Ah, that’s the thing to write. Some¬ 
thing that will wring the reader’s heart with 
anguish — a good phrase, that. 

“ I hope I can remember all these good things 
and put them in my notebook to-morrow! ” 





74 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Now for more detail about the hero. He 
should be a musician or a poet-” 

She turned over, restlessly, and looked to¬ 
ward the light blur of the window. Then she 
sat up and stared. Outlined against the dull, 
windowframed square of sky was a hunched-up 
figure, massed against the somewhat lesser 
gloom without, vaguely poised above the sill. 
It had the general outline of misshapen dwarf, 
and sat motionless, brooding like Poe’s raven, 
a thing out of a nightmare. The longer she 
looked at it, the more ghastly it became. She 
could even make out burning eyes deep in the 
blackness. But that last, she told herself with 
a kind of desperate practicality, was her imag¬ 
ination, or an illusion of her straining eyes. 

She resolutely turned her back on the Thing, 
and then peeked over her shoulder. It was still 
there. 

Her trembling hand reached for her flash¬ 
light, and at first was too nerveless to press the 
button. The second time it clicked and a 
stream of light shone full upon the form. It 
was the heaped-up extra rug. The light clicked 
out, and June curled up under her rug and 
laughed softly. What an adventure for her 



THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 75 

Foolish Adventure Book! Wouldn’t she 
have a good time telling it to the girls at school? 
She could imagine Cathie’s wide eyes, and hear 
her sharply in-drawn breath as she approached 
the climax. 

The exertion of sitting up, or the swift tran¬ 
sition from terror to laughter and from tragedy 
to a ridiculous foolish adventure dispelled the 
horror and she composed herself to sleep. 

Her eyes dropped heavily, and she seemed 
floating away on a sea of amber, shot through 
with gold. . . . 

She started awake. She thought she had 
heard something and lay, breathlessly, listen¬ 
ing. But the quiet room reassured her, and 
she dozed. Again she started. She had heard 
a noise! 

It was a kind of scuffling, scratching noise, 
like something climbing the stairs. Shuff 
shuff, and then a muffled, metallic clink. 
June’s hair rose on end, and her flesh crawled. 
The ghost — with the chain — It was coming 
toward the door — shuff — shuff — clink. 
Whatever it was, it was not human. She knew 
that by the sound of the footsteps, and the faint 
scratching, and a sniffing noise. The door 




76 JUNE’S QUEST 

swung open with a creak of hinges. June, 
petrified with horror, wished that she had locked 
the door, and then the next instant was glad she 
had not. It would have been too terrible to 
hear the Thing come right through a locked 
door! But worst of all was the feeling of a 
Presence in the room, and a faint, almost im¬ 
perceptible odor — a damp, musty odor as of 

— something from the grave- 

June’s nerves gave way, suddenly, as the 
Thing uttered a low moan. She screamed with 
all the power of her lusty lungs. 

From across the hall her father shouted a 
sleep-befogged reply. “ Hold fast! Don’t 
let go!” Then a pause in which the Thing 
dashed against a wall with an unearthly clat¬ 
ter, and the door slowly swung shut. 

“June!” Paul sounded more awake, now. 
“ Did you call, June? ” 

“Dad! Come quick! It’s in my room!” 
The power returned to her paralyzed muscles, 
and she dashed out, shutting the door behind 
her. 

Paul met her in the hall, with a flashlight. 
He was smiling, but when he saw her face he 
grew sober. 




THE WEEPIN’ WILLY 77 

“ What did you see, Kid? ” 

“ I heard it — Listen! ” 

She leaned against him, weakly, and she felt 
the arm which supported her stiffen as the 
sounds reached him. He laid a hand on the 
latch of the door, and she put hers over it. 

“ Don’t, Dad, — It’s horrible — Don’t 
look — ” 

“ Don’t look, if you don’t want to,” he said 
gently, and June hid her eyes against his arm 
while he opened the door, and she shuddered as 

he stood for a moment motionless on the thresh- 

% 

old. 

Then she heard him chuckle. “ June, as a 
ghost-catcher you’re better than any Celt I 
ever saw! Look! ” 

June cautiously uncovered one eye and 
peeked along the finger of light from the flash. 
Blinking in the spot of light was a poor, be¬ 
draggled terrier of uncertain lineage — part 
Scotch and part Irish, with a dash of Airedale 
and an air of daschhund, and all hair and plead¬ 
ing brown eyes. His hair was wet, and from 
it arose the odor of mustiness which suggested 
an old grave. And some mischievous urchin 
had tied to its tail an old can. 



78 


JUNE’S QUEST 

June dropped to her knees and gathered the 
shivery body into her arms. “ Oh, Dad, he’s 
just a bundle of bones. No wonder he clanked 
like a skeleton when he walked! Let’s give 
him a piece of ham and some milk.” 

Paul laughed. “ You’ll never get rid of him 
if you do! ” 

“I don’t care! I want to keep him. Can’t 
we? We need a mascot — I mean a watchdog. 
And I’ve never had a pet — ” 

It was hard to tell which made the deeper 
appeal, June’s pleading eyes, glowing like 
topazes in the light from the flash, or the dog’s 
eyes turned up to her face in sudden, but un¬ 
wavering devotion. 

Paul choked suddenly. “ All right, June. 
Keep him.” 

June gathered him up, can and all, and 
dodged a caress from a pink tongue. “ We’ll 
call him Willy,” she said, happily. 

“ Willy? ” 

“ Yes, in memory of the drowned mermaid, 
the Weepin’ Willy keeping tryst with a wail¬ 
ing spook.” 

“ You do think of the nicest things,” gasped 
Paul. 



CHAPTER VI 


A KNIGHT ERRANT AND A MAID A-DREAM 

After Willy had been fed, and the can re¬ 
moved from his tail, and his fur dried off some¬ 
what, June and her father went back to bed, 
and this time June slept until the sunlight shone 
through the window on her face, and the fra¬ 
grance of boiling coffee assailed her nostrils. 

She sat up, and Willy, having been curled 
on her feet, with one eye open and one ear 
cocked, for the next move, jumped up and 
yapped joyfully. His can was gone, he smelt 
good things to eat, some one loved him at last, 
and it was good to be alive. 

June thought the same thing as she looked 
out into the garden and sniffed the rain-cooled 
air. She could hear her father whistling down¬ 
stairs, and somewhere in the willow tree a bird 
was pouring out showers of golden notes. The 
world was very beautiful. 

79 


80 


JUNE'S QUEST 

When June came down with Willy under 
her arm, her father looked up from the broiling 
bacon with a broad grin. 

“ Good morning, Ghost-Catcher Extraordi¬ 
nary! ” he hailed. “ Did you catch any more 
spooks? ” 

“ No,” she laughed. “ Twice was enough 
for one night.” 

“ Twice? ” 

“ I forgot you didn’t know about the other. 
I’ll tell you while we eat.” 

They had another picnic breakfast, spread 
upon the floor with Paul on one side of their 
paper cloth, and June on the other, within 
easy reach of the coffee-pot and the bacon, 
while Willy sat between them and watched both 
impartially. 

And as they ate June told of the adventure 
with the rug, and her father laughed helplessly, 
while Willy watched the bread and bacon dis¬ 
appearing. Sometimes when Paul laughed 
Willy would look in his direction and thump his 
tail, hopefully. The bacon was almost gone, 
and just a little milk remained in the bottle, 
and there was just a small piece of bread. 
Willy began to get worried. He licked his 


A KNIGHT ERRANT 81 

nose, suggestively, but no one paid any atten¬ 
tion. He thumped his tail, and no one paid 
any attention. Then he whined. Paul paused 
in the act of reaching for the bacon; June 
paused in the act of reaching for the bread; 
and they both looked at the furry scrap wrig¬ 
gling with eagerness. 

“ Poor Willy,” said June, and he thumped 
his tail again at the tone in her voice. “ We 
almost forgot him, talking about spooks, so 
we did! Do you really want that bacon, 
Dad?” 

c< No, give it to Willy, and the rest of the 
bread and the milk. He can’t be terribly hun¬ 
gry, though, after all we gave him to eat last 
night.” 

Willy confirmed Paul’s opinion by eating the 
bacon and drinking the milk, and taking the 
bread out and burying it. June watched him. 
“ H’m,” she remarked, thoughtfully. “ That 
solves the garbage problem, doesn’t it? ” 

After breakfast, Paul carried the rugs and 
cushions and violin out to the car again, and 
put a more comfortable patch on Maryanneliza- 
beth’s sore wheel so that she ran without so 
much protest, and then June climbed up next 


82 


JUNE’S QUEST 

to him in the front seat, with Willy between 
them, and they were off again. 

As they passed between the sagging gate¬ 
posts, June looked back at the house, which, seen 
in the morning sunlight, somehow seemed less 
desolate, and waved her hand to the willow tree 
which stood like a fairy princess with diamonds 
in her blowing hair. 

“ I almost hate to leave, 7 ’ she sighed, as 
Maryannelizabeth turned down the red road to¬ 
ward the village. “ Two adventures in one 
night give me a friendly feeling for a place. — 
Willy, I wish you wouldn’t lick my chin. It 
isn’t sanitary.” 

“ I hope we’re not making a mistake by 
bringing that pup along,” said Paul, pessimis¬ 
tically. “ What breed is he, anyway? ” 

“ He’s a spook hound,” said June, regard¬ 
ing him thoughtfully. “ With a dash of ad¬ 
venture terrier in him.” 

“ I believe you,” laughed Paul. 

“ He’ll run adventures to cover, and we’ll 
only need to sneak up behind him and shoot 
them,” went on June, and she was more nearly 
right than she knew. Indeed, if it hadn’t been 
for Willy, several things might not have hap- 


A KNIGHT ERRANT 83 

pened which did happen, and this tale might 
never have been told. 

They coasted down a steep hill, and June 
threw back her head to feel the wind’s fingers 
in her hair, while Willy barked hilariously. 

“ What town is this,” asked June after a 
moment, “ and do we stop to-day or did we 
just want to stay there over night? ” 

Paul hesitated. “ It’s the town of Hilton, 
and we do want to stop there. Maryanneliza- 
beth thinks she’s still suffering, so we’ll leave 
her to the tender mercies of a garage man, and 
— I have an address I’d like to look up.” 

“ An address? ” 

“ An address furnished by a private de¬ 
tective.” 

She looked at him, but he did not turn. His 
eyes were fastened on the road before them. 

•j 

Her heart gave a sudden jump. Her mother! 
Perhaps they had found her! 

“ Is — is it — certain? ” 

“ Perhaps. It never has been before, but 
there has to be a final time. If the others had 
been right, we wouldn’t still be looking, would 
we? ” 

“ Like that old conundrum, ‘ Why do you 




34 


JUNE’S QUEST 

always find a thing in the last place you look? 
Because when you find it you stop looking.’ ” 

Her voice sounded frivolous, but it covered 
a tumult in her heart. She hadn’t realized be¬ 
fore that they were actually following a trail 
which might lead to her mother. It made her 
feel like a knight on a quest. It gave an addi¬ 
tional zest to their vagabonding, a new possi¬ 
bility for unexpected adventure, a new hope for 
the journey’s end. 

As they sped along, she began to dream of 
the time when they would find her mother, for 
there was something contagious in Paul’s be¬ 
lief that she still lived. 

She pictured her tall and stately, with a 
pleasant face, a happy laugh, a sweet voice. 
And they would live in a little house by them¬ 
selves, near enough to school so that June could 
bring her friends home. And there would be a 
garden with flowers and a sundial, and perhaps 
a tennis court in the back. And inside would 
be books and a piano, and comfortable chairs. 
And she could go and come without having to 
sign a card to say when she went and when she 
came back. And she could bring her friends 
and they could sing and pop corn and play 


A KNIGHT ERRANT 85 

games, or just talk without having an older per¬ 
son sitting there smiling indulgently every time 
one of them caught her eye. They could talk 
extravagantly, and plan preposterous things to 
be carried out in a rush of enthusiasm and 
laughed about afterward. She could even 
bring boys home — that nice boy she had met 
at the Yale-Harvard game the time she went 
up with Di. 

But usually they would be together — just 
the three of them. She would study in the liv¬ 
ing-room, and Paul would read his paper, and 
Mother — well, Mother would just go around 
mothering. Sometimes she would sing, per¬ 
haps, and Paul would play on his violin and 
Willy would lie on the hearth-rug and dream 
about chasing spooks or burying garbage. 

Perhaps the house would have a steeply 
slanting roof like the one they just passed — 
a white stucco house with blue shutters and a 
blue door with a brass knocker on it — and 
hollyhocks against the wall and a hedge with 
a white gate set in it — and blue larkspur in 
the front yard. 

“ Dad? ” 

“ Huh? ” 






86 JUNE'S QUEST 

“ What did Mother look like?” 

“ She was little — much slighter than you 
and at least two inches shorter — with fair hair, 
and big blue eyes.” 

“ Oh.” She thought of Di’s tall, stately 
mother with the brown hair carefully marcelled, 
and she suddenly knew that she didn’t want a 
tall, stately mother after all! A little one with 
fair hair would be much nicer. 

They were coming to the town, and June 
leaned forward, eagerly. The road swept 
down a hill, and around a curve to reach the 
town whose roofs shone below them in the val¬ 
ley, and June’s heart leapt. Adventure! 
What lay just around that curve? The 
Golden Lady of the Prince’s dreams? The 
end of the Knight’s Quest? Or disappoint¬ 
ment again? 

“ Shall I — shall I go with you? ” 

Paul shook his head. “ I’d rather go alone, 
please, June. You don’t mind amusing your¬ 
self in the village with Willy? ” 

“ N-no.” 

“ Go into a store and buy yourself some pret¬ 
ties. And meet me at the garage at twelve, 
sharp. Then we’ll have lunch somewhere.” 




A KNIGHT ERRANT 87 

“ And, Dad — ” 

“ Yes?” 

“ If it is — Mother — ” 

“ Yes?” 

“ Nothing — only — Oh, if it is! ” 

“If it is — which I doubt, June — I’ll 
bring her along to lunch! ” 

They drew up before a garage, and Willy 
eyed the man suspiciously. But in spite of 
Willy’s distrust they left Maryannelizabeth 
there, and after a few words of instruction to 
the mechanic the three of them went up the 
street together. 

“ Here’s where I leave you,” said Paul, paus¬ 
ing at a corner. “ Need any more money? 
Take this, anyway.” 

She noticed that the fingers which pushed 
the folded bill into her hand trembled a little, 
and the fact heightened her own excitement. 
Her father,,calm, poised, cool before thousands 
who applauded him, was as nervous as a boy. 
She watched him stride up the street and sud¬ 
denly understood why he hadn’t wanted her 
along. There were tears in her eyes, but she 
winked them away. 

Taking a fresh grip on Willy, who was 







88 


JUNE’S QUEST 

squirming around to see what the villainous 
garage man was doing to Maryannelizabeth, 
she was reminded of something she could get 
while she had the chance — a collar and leash 
for him! 

She got it, although Willy did not take 
kindly to it at first, and then they went along 
better. To be sure, Willy would suddenly re¬ 
member the hateful thing and try to back out of 
the collar and try to chew through the leash, 
and unexpectedly pull June almost off her feet 
at the sudden sight of a saucy cat washing her 
face on a shady porch. But for the most part 
he took it philosophically. They were queer 
people, but they at least fed him and didn’t tie 
cans to his tail. 

He sniffed at the butcher’s shop, but June 
— incomprehensible person! — didn’t seem at 
all intrigued by the delicious smell of raw beef¬ 
steak or the sight of a juicy bone. Instead, she 
went into another store and bought some other 
things, and although he watched carefully, she 
didn’t take a bite of a single thing she bought. 

There wasn’t much in the village. Even 
June had to admit that. It drowsed in the 
shade of the maple-trees, and seemed almost to 



A KNIGHT ERRANT 89 

yawn. The mechanic at the garage tinkered 
half-heartedly with Maryannelizabeth’s back 
teeth, and whistled sleepily. A bird twittered 
in a tree above them. Willy sighed. They 
were headed away from the butcher’s shop. 
Life was very flat. 

June looked at her watch. It still lacked half 
an hour to twelve o’clock. Well, there wasn’t 
anything to see in the town, and the people in 
the shops were not disposed to talk, so she set 
out for the little square which was laid out, 
absurdly enough, with green fields not two 
squares away. There she settled herself com¬ 
fortably and began to write — first her adven¬ 
tures of the night before in her little Foolish 
Adventure Book, and then, as it still lacked 
several minutes to twelve, and she was near 
enough to the garage, she dashed off some cards 
to Di and Cathie and Mary. She had just fin¬ 
ished them when an unusually violent wriggle 
from Willy and an impetuous whine made her 
look up. Paul was coming down the street 
toward the garage, walking rather slowly, and 
by his side was a little person in a floppy gray 
hat. 

June’s heart stopped. He had said — if it 


90 JUNE’S QUEST 

were her mother he would bring her back with 
him. And here he was with a woman — a 
slight, girlish figure, scarcely as high as his 
shoulder. And she was talking to him ani¬ 
matedly — Could it be — ? 

She scrambled to her feet, her heart beating 
wildly and her knees shaking. 

Paul looked up and saw her, and waved his 
hat. The woman looked at her, too. They 
both stopped. 

June forced herself to walk sedately out of 
the little square, holding tight to Willy’s leash 
with trembling hands. What should she say? 

Willy hurled himself forward with a shrill 
yelp of joy, then circled back and around June’s 
ankles. She pitched forward into her father’s 
arms, and she looked over his arm at the 
woman’s face, and her heart came up into her 
throat. Could that be her mother? 



CHAPTER VII 


MAGGIE, THE WASH-LADY’S DAUGHTER 

She saw a pair of blue eyes, first, with heav¬ 
ily beaded eyelashes, and blackened eyebrows 
*— and the eyes beneath their make-up were 
rather small and hard and cold. They regarded 
her with hostility, tinged with amusement. 
Her cheeks were glowing with the very best of 
brunette rouge, which, in the glare of the sun¬ 
shine seemed incongruous with the rest of her 
complexion. Her lips were rather full, and 
made more so by heavy purple lipstick. Some¬ 
how, it was not the make-up itself which dis¬ 
gusted June. It was rather the cheapness 
which underlay it. There was a coarseness in 
the texture of the skin, in the curve of the lips, 
in the glance of the eyes, which told her that 
this woman was masquerading as a lady, and 
not the real thing. June had never seen any 
one just like her, but somehow she knew. 

It took just a minute for June to make her 


91 


92 JUNE’S QUEST 

estimate, and her heart sank. Pier father had 
said that if she were her mother he would bring 
her — and here she was with him. Then — 

“ My daughter, June, Miss LaFitte,” said 
Paul, coolly, and Miss LaFitte put out a large 
hand, languidly. “ I’m afraid I must ask you 
to excuse us now,” went on Paul. “ Our car 
is almost ready, and we must push on.” 

“ You could have luncheon with me,” sug¬ 
gested Miss LaFitte. “ There is a rather fair 
tea-room — ” 

“ Thanks, we can’t now.” They moved to¬ 
ward the garage where the man was putting the 
last touches to the car. 

“ Well, it’s been a pleasure to have met you,” 
said Miss LaFitte. “ And if you do decide to 
go in with me, let me know and I’ll fix it up 
with a man I know. One o’ the profesh.” 

“ Thanks, Miss LaFitte. I shall.” 

“ And it has been so nice to have met your — 
er — daughter. And I’d like to see your show 
when it comes to town, Mr. Severne. If you 
run against Izzy Baumgartner give him my 
very best. And do come to see me again. 
Please!” 


“ Thanks.” 




MAGGIE 


93 


Miss LaFitte’s eyebrows and eyelashes and 
eyes performed a few remarkable feats, but 
they were lost on Paul who was inspecting 
Maryannelizabeth’s wheel and her exposed 
back teeth with interest. 

44 Good-bye,” gurgled Miss LaFitte. 

44 Bye,” said Paul, presumably to Mary- 
annelizabeth. 

June watched the dainty figure trip along the 
pavement, and then turned back to her father 
just in time to see him and the garage man ex¬ 
change a solemn wink. 

44 She’s come up in the woild,” remarked the 
garageman. 44 When we went to school to¬ 
gether she was plain Maggie McGinnis, an’ 
her ma took in washin’. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ 
agin that. Lots o’ good women’s took in wash¬ 
in’, y’understand. But sence she got into 
voddyville — talk about high-hat! Miss Mar¬ 
guerite Lay Fitte now, if yer please! — How 
about some gas? Fill ’er up? Bight. Got a 
pretty fair car there, Mister. Can’t beat the 
Henrys, can yer? — It ain’t like me to talk 
about no woman, y’understand, but when one 
what yer’ve known all yer life gets so doggone 
high and snooty! She’s got her good points, 



94 


JUNE’S QUEST 

though. She’s a great little necker, an’ she 
ain’t pertickler, if there’s nobody better.” 

June smiled, for he seemed to be talking to 
her, and she let him put Willy into the seat. 
She took the wheel herself. 

“ Miss Lay Fitte. She’s a fit all right. 
Thank you, sir. Hope you have a pleasant 
trip. Good-bye, Miss.” 

The car glided off, leaving him standing by 
his tank, his hat in his hand, and a silly smile 
on his face. He was remembering his joke 
with satisfaction. 

June stole a look at her father’s face. It was 
turned away but the corner of his mouth was 
tight, and having difficulty holding in a smile. 

“ Where shall we stop to eat, Dad? I’m 
nearly starved.” 

“ The next town,” laughed Paul. “ And 
the farther away the better.” 

Willy looked regretfully at the butcher shop, 
nosed June’s packages, and sighed. 

Maryannelizabeth ran sweetly, and purred 
contentedly. Her wheel was all right now, and 
the neuralgia had gone from her back teeth. 
The world was all happy. 

June, though consumed with curiosity, de- 


MAGGIE 


95 

cided to hold her questions until they had found 
a place to eat. Both kept a close watch for an 
eating-house, and hailed the sign, “ Chicken 
Dinner,” with delight. They followed the ar¬ 
row which pointed along the way, and came to 
another sign, and then another, and then the 
abode of the long-heralded chicken dinner 
loomed before them. 

They drove through the whitewashed drive¬ 
way, and gave Willy to a kindly waitress who 
took him into the kitchen, and then they went 
into the dining-room. 

It had been a farmhouse and was now a tea¬ 
room, made into a combination Japanese tea- 
garden and conventional hotel, with a smatter¬ 
ing of old colonial, Chinese, and the original 
farmhouse cropping through now and then. 

“ The League of Nations,” laughed Paul, 
looking about him. “ Let’s hope their taste in 
cooking is better than their taste in decorating.” 

“ The one kind of interior decorating doesn’t 
advertise the other any too well,” twinkled 
June. “ However, we don’t have to eat the 
decorations. And I’m so hungry, I don’t care 
which country they follow in their food.” 

After the rosy-cheeked waitress had taken 


96 JUNE'S QUEST 

their order, June and her father looked at each 
other. June’s eyes were full of questions, and 
Paul seeing them laughed outright. He 
looked more like a boy returning from a mis¬ 
chievous escapade than a knight disappointed in 
his quest. 

“ Well? ” he laughed. 

“ You said if it were Mother,” she accused 
him, “ that you would bring her along. What 
do you mean by giving me heart failure like 
that? ” 

“ I didn’t bring her,” protested Paul. “ She 
came. I couldn’t get rid of her. Of course I 
knew the minute I saw her that she was not 
your mother. If I had talked to the garage- 
man first — but there was a little mystery about 
her, mostly concocted by her press agent, I 
suppose, to keep people from getting wise to 
her humble origin. As if people wouldn’t know 
it the minute they laid eyes on her — not her 
wash-lady mother, but her cheapness which 
goes deeper than ancestry. I’ll never forget 
the look on your face when Willy spilled you 
into my arms! You looked like a stricken 
deer.” 

“ I felt like one. I thought she was Mother. 


MAGGIE 97 

Oh, it was an awful moment! Tell me what 
happened.” 

He grinned wickedly, and waited until the 
waitress had served them. 

“ Well, I found the place without any trouble 
and she was waiting for me, all dolled up as if 
she thought I was going to take her to a garden 
party or something. She even wore the hat, 
and carried a basket of roses, explaining that 
she had just been gathering roses.” 

“ In that rig? ” 

“ Exactly. 4 Gather ye roses, while ye may ’ 
and then he may. I was ready in case she 
shouldn’t be Olive, and gave her a line about 
being in the neighborhood and stopping in to 
bring greetings from Billy Greer.” 

44 Who’s Billy Greer? ” 

44 A manager I happen to know. A friend 
in the profesh, as she would say. I didn’t tell 
him why I wanted to see her, or he would prob¬ 
ably have told me. You know, I’ve hesitated 
to do that, June, because the press agents would 
get hold of it and work it for all it was worth. 
Some of it has leaked out — afterward. But 
I don’t want a gang of reporters on my trail 
when I interview some one who may be Olive. 



98 JUNE’S QUEST 

However, it might save time if I hadn’t that 
streak of reserve. — Well, so then she insisted 
that I should stay for lunch. I told her I had 
my daughter with me and we had just left the 
car to be overhauled, and must push on. Then 
she said she would walk as far as the garage 
with me, for she wanted to meet you. Oh, she 
treated me like an old friend — wanted to take 
my arm.” 

“ And when she saw me, she saw green,” 
chuckled June. 

“ June, your uncanny faculties of obser¬ 
vance make me suspicious of Miss Spencer’s 
Select. Didn’t she freeze, though? I didn’t 
want to overplay my hand, but I did want her 
to get the idea that we might be father and 
daughter, but were undoubtedly not, and that 
three would not be exactly the ideal number.” 

“ Dad! I wondered why you didn’t notice 
her stressing of the word daughter. I was 
furious! ” 

“ I think I did pretty well myself on the 
spur of the moment. But I couldn’t stand any 
more of her. If there’s one type of woman I 
detest, June, it’s a cheap flirt. 

“ I knew in a moment that she had never 


MAGGIE 


99 


heard of me, and that she couldn’t place me, 
but was pretending to know all about me. At 
last she took the plunge and asked me if I had 
a new act. I told her I had a few new selec¬ 
tions (which is true) and she invited me to do 
a song and dance with her, saying that high¬ 
brow stuff doesn’t go in vaudeville (which is 
also true). She even offered to teach me to 
dance if I couldn’t already.” 

" Dad !" 

44 I had a good time stringing her along, and 
she still thinks I am a vaudeville actor, with a 
violin specialty.” 

“ But I should think for the sake of your art 
— you’d be proud to let her know that you are 
an — an — artist.” Her voice broke in a gig¬ 
gle. “ Of course I can see why you didn’t. 
You’re not puffed up at all, are you? But she 
did deserve to be put in her place and be taught 
that there’s a long way between a concert and a 
4 show.’ ” She thought a minute. 44 You 
know, Dad, she reminds me a little of Joyce, 
somehow.” 

44 Ah, yes. Joyce. She is the Joyce type, 
only Joyce has some refinement back of her, 
and is a little less crude in her methods — or 






100 


JUNE'S QUEST 

will be when she attains the uncertain age of 
Miss McGinnis-£a?/-Fitte.” 

“Oh, Dad! I didn’t think men knew so 
much about girls. I wouldn’t want you — or 
— or any one else to even think about me that 
way.” 

“ Then don’t give us a chance,” laughed 
Paul. “ Be sweet and — how does the quota¬ 
tion go? — ‘ Be good, dear child, and let who 
will be clever! ’ And then when the boys and 
men think of you they will think — ” 

“ ‘ Don’t take her anywhere. She’s a flat 
tire’.” 

Paul looked startled for an instant, and then 
he laughed. “ Quotation from whom? ” He 
pretended to be fierce. “ Who called my 
che-ild a flat tire? ” 

“ Oh, one of the boys. You see we couldn’t 
have boys at school, so some of the girls used to 
sneak out and meet them at the movies or some 
place. One time they took me along.” 

“ And you met your Prince Charming, I 
suppose? ” 

“No. They weren’t nice boys at all. One 
of them tried to kiss me and I wouldn’t let him. 
Why, I didn’t want to! I’d never met him be- 





MAGGIE 101 

fore! And so — that was why. He told the 
others that I was a flat tire.” 

“ And probably will remember you all the 
days of his life as the girl who wouldn’t.” He 
played with his knife a moment in silehce, then, 
matter-of-factly: “June, I don’t think I’d 
go out with those girls against the rules again.” 

“ Oh, I never have! But — well — you see 
Di took me to the Yale-Harvard game last fall, 
and we met some nice boys. I mean nice ones, 
Dad. I liked them — one especially. But of 
course he can’t come to the school. Di saw one 
of them again. He took her to hear Madame 
Sergieff the night we all came to hear you. 
And on holidays — ” 

“ We do jump around on our holidays, don’t 
wef 

“ I didn’t mean that. I do like to spend 
them with you! If we only had a home! You 
see, all the other girls go — go — home, and 
their friends give parties for them. But then 
none of them have famous fathers to be proud 
of. Oh, I shouldn’t have told you any of this. 
Forget it, please! I do love you better than 
anything else in the world, and I’d give 
up everything for you! Really I would!” 






102 


JUNE’S QUEST 

/ 

“ Why didn’t you tell me this before? ” 

“ I didn’t want to bother you. And you 
have enough to worry about — with your 
tragedy — ” 

“ That tragedy is over — an old story — past 
and done with. But having to think of your 
meeting boys at movie lobbies — that would be 
the real tragedy, June. And it sha’n’t happen 
to you. From now on, we’ll stay through our 
holidays — the winter ones, anyway, and I’ll 
arrange my engagements so that I can come 
to one place which will be our headquarters.” 

June’s heart leaped. A little white house 
with a blue door, and a brass knocker, and Willy 
rushing madly about the living-room — she 
could just see how he would slide on the rugs, 
chasing a kitten, perhaps, because he was so 
glad she had come home. Home! 

“ We’ll have the swellest suite in the best 
hotel in New York,” went on Paul, enthusiasti¬ 
cally. 

The chicken in June’s plate suddenly became 
hard to manage and there was a lump in her 
throat which was not chicken but which was al¬ 
most as hard to manage. In an instant she had 
them both under control. 






MAGGIE 103 

“You think of the best things, Dad,” she 
sighed. 

And yet there was a warm feeling around 
her heart. She had discovered that her father, 
though blundering and misunderstanding so 
many things, was still a comrade of the finest 
type — the kind who would listen to confi¬ 
dences without either laughing or being unduly 
shocked. Imagine Di telling her mother — 
her aristocratic mother! — about meeting those 
boys at the Palace Theatre door. It would 
have permanently unwaved that worthy lady’s 
hair, and Di would probably have been re¬ 
moved from Miss Spencer’s Select, and the 
place thereof would know her no more. 

Luncheon over, they secured Willy, and set 
forth again, along a twisting road which had 
now dried out and wound through a mist of 
golden dust. Surely around those curves lay 
adventure — nights of mother-of-pearl and 
silver, days of sapphire and emerald and gold, 
strung on a winding thread of road. 






CHAPTER VIII 

“ THE ROAD’S A WINDING RIBBON FLUNG ” 

It was all right to joke about Maggie 
McGinnis-.La?/-Fitte, and, as June said, with 
sudden wit, “ laff it off,” but June was disap¬ 
pointed, just the same. It must be discourag¬ 
ing to Paul to know that he had chased another 
rainbow up a blind trail. 

She thought about it as they spun through 
the golden summer days that followed, with 
Paul at the wheel and Willy curled up between 
them, dreaming violently, with little “ whiffs ” 
and kicks of his four feet. 

They sped through villages with white¬ 
washed churches and bright orange garages, 
and eccentric “ hot-dog ” stands, and through 
open country where the fields lay like a cloth 
of gold where the wild mustard and buttercups 
grew, embroidered with clumps of daisies. 


104 


“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 105 


The butterflies dipped above patches of white 
and purple clover, and the bees hummed their 
way, straight-winged toward loaded cherry- 
trees in hillside orchards, and along the edges of 
woodland meadows. Plumy grasses scattered 
abroad their fairy snuff — away off on a hill a 
willow stood poised like a dancer, against the 
blue curtain of sky, her long green draperies 
trailing behind her. Along the roadside, the 
raspberry canes made graceful cathedral arches 
under which the fairy folk could gather to wor¬ 
ship their great god, Pan. Little streams ran 
along chuckling to themselves and whispering 
secrets to the ferns and weeds that bent low to 
catch them — secrets they had overheard from 
the trees which stood along their banks mur¬ 
muring together, their boughs interlaced like 
the fingers of lovers. 

On a particular July day, Maryannelizabeth 
took them through a covered bridge, which 
rather, in some mysterious manner seemed to 
swoop down upon them and gather them in. 
There was an exciting, low rumble like distant 
thunder. Sunbeams sifted in a golden dust 
through the cracks in the roof, and through the 
side walls were glimpses of jade green and 


106 


JUNE’S QUEST 

brown waters with pencilings of gold, and lacy 
rufflings of foam. Then they emerged into 
the sunshine again, passed a farmhouse, and 
climbed a hill. 

There was a swing in the dooryard of the 
farmhouse, and June looked back to see if she 
could catch a glimpse of the people who lived 
there. It was neatly whitewashed and well 
kept — not just the kind of house she would 
have chosen, but evidently some one’s home. 
June sighed suddenly. 

The sun sank lower. Willy yawned and sat 
up. He looked at Paul’s chin, and remem¬ 
bered that his attempt to lick it earlier in the 
day had not been appreciatively received, and 
he turned and licked June’s instead. 

“ Willy’s hungry,” said June. “ And so 
am I.” 

Paul looked at his watch. “ We’ll stop 
soon. I think there is a lake here somewhere. 
So shall we wait and camp on the shore, or 
would you rather stop here? ” 

“ Oh, let’s go on! ” 

“ Right! It can’t be far now.” 

Nor was it. Ten minutes later they stopped 
at a farm — which later proved to be a sum- 



“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 107 


mer camp — and asked for the owner. He 
was a genial man, who looked intently at Paul 
while he talked to him. 

“ Why, yes, you can camp down there. Fol- 
low this lane to the end, then strike off through 
the field to that clump of woods. There you’ll 
find a place just made for camping — a flat 
rock and an open space for your tent. Of 
course, I don’t need to tell you to look out for 
the fire. You can fish there, too, and if the 
old rowboat hasn’t too big a leak in it, you can 
use that.” 

“ Thanks,” said Paul, and decided against 
paying for the privilege, for the owner looked 
too embarrassingly like a big business man on 
a holiday. “ That’s very nice of you.” 

“ You can swim there, too, if you want to. 
In the field there’s a camp of gypsies, so — nail 
down everything, and chain the car to a tree. 
If you do miss anything, just go up to the camp 
and take it back. They’ll be more surprised 
than you will when you find it there, but they 
won’t stop you. 

“ Er — You are Paul Severne, aren’t you? 
I thought so,” shaking hands heartily. “ I 
heard you every night you were at Millvale. 



108 


JUNE’S QUEST 

The wife likes your music because it makes her 
sad when she’s feeling happy. These women! 
Name’s Scott.” 

“ My daughter, June, Mr. Scott. Glad you 
like my music. I’m always glad to hear people 
say that they do, because I’m afraid I’d keep 
on playing, anyway, and we might as well have 
everybody happy.” 

Mr. Scott laughed. “ Your daughter play, 
too, does she? ” 

“ She hasn’t shown any signs of it yet,” 
laughed Paul. 

“ Isn’t it strange,” mused June, as Mary- 
annelizabeth waddled along down the twisting 
lane, complaining about the roughness of the 
road, “ that every one thinks I ought to want 
to play because you do! ” 

“I’m glad you have better sense than to try 
to do it, just because / do! If you wanted to 
play, professionally, you’d have every advan¬ 
tage I could give you. You know that.” 

“ Do you mind because I don’t? ” 

“Nonsense, child! I’m more glad than 
otherwise. You should do something to make 
yourself of use in the world — whether it is 
baking bread for the people to eat or providing 


“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 109 


music for their souls — but it’s up to you to 
choose. And there are lots of ways which 
bring less heartbreak than professional art of 
any kind. — There’s the lake.” 

Through an opening in the trees they could 
see the shimmering expanse of water sparkling 
in the last rays of the sun, rippled by a slight 
breeze, and the winding lane brought them to 
the shore where a ferry crossed. 

They struck across a field, Maryannelizabeth 
snorting indignantly, and Willy taking a lively 
interest in the weeds which brushed the side of 
the car, and sniffing the scent of the grassy 
meadow. 

A woman in a bright red dress, with full skirt, 
heavily embroidered, stood in the tall grass and 
watched them come, and a little farther on the 
main camp of the gypsies came into view. 
Something which was cooking in a big iron pot 
sent out an intriguing odor and Willy whined 
and wriggled with eagerness. The gypsies, 
apparently, lived in the gaily painted wagons 
which stood about in a circle, for there were 
children playing on the steps, and a woman 
sat in the front of one of them patching a pair 
of ragged trousers. 




110 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ The Romany Camp,” said Paul. “ They 
don’t seem any too friendly toward the Gorgio 
invaders, either.” 

A woman sitting at the root of a big tree, 
looked up as they bumped past. She was a 
striking-looking woman, brown and wrinkled 
of skin, with burning black eyes, and stringy, 
coarse, gray hair, and dressed in a splendidly 
embroidered dress, with big gold earrings in 
her ears. She called out a few words in a for¬ 
eign tongue, and a man came out of one of the 
wagons and peered at them curiously. He was 
a villainous-looking individual, with an air 
which was at once defiant and furtive. 

“ I hope we’ll not be too near them,” said 
June, rather nervously. 

“ I guess they won’t bother us,” Paul as¬ 
sured her. 

But June was far from easy in her mind. 
Even when she found the camp site was some 
distance away, she was nervous. 

“ We’ll nail everything down, all right,” 
laughed Paul, “ and you take Willy into the 
tent with you; we’d better get the tent up now. 
You gather some wood for the camp fire — will 
you, June, while I’m doing it? ” 


“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 111 


“ Sure,” responded June. “ Er — I’ll take 
Willy, too. Come along, Willy.” 

Willy leapt to the end of his leash and 
plunged like an insane thing, but June would 
not let him go. She hung to her end even 
though it hampered her considerably in getting 
wood and carrying it in. Paul laughed at her 
struggles. 

“ They won’t hurt you, June. Don’t be so 
silly.” 

“Willy needs — exercise!” panted June, 
and stopped suddenly while Willy investigated 
a mysterious hole between the roots of a tree. 

“ Let him go. He won’t run away.” 

“ They might catch him and put him in their 
pot. They do eat dogs, you know. And it 
would be terrible if they invited us for lunch! ” 

Paul’s only reply was a laugh as he ham¬ 
mered in the stakes for the tent. Under his 
expert hands the tent arose like a mushroom 
growth, and by the time June had collected a 
reasonable supply of wood he was ready to 
make the fire. 

It was pleasant sitting there on the rock, lis¬ 
tening to the soft lap-lap of the lake water, and 
the murmur of the trees. A deep peace stole 



112 JUNE’S QUEST 

over her as she looked out across the waters. 
Even the gypsies were a part of the open life 
and therefore friendly, and there was nothing 
to fear. 

They found the boat, after they had eaten 
their supper and the fire had died out, and she 
and Paul boarded her. After a little coaxing 
Willy sat between them. lie was not enthusi¬ 
astic, but he made the best of it. 

Mr. Scott’s house stood near the water’s 
edge at the lower end of the lake, and Paul de¬ 
cided to serenade him from the water when the 
moon came up. So he held his precious violin 
in its damp-proof case across his knees. 

It was growing dusk, the apple-green after¬ 
glow of sunset and the hyacinth blue of twilight 
were just mingling, and the waters of the lake 
were jeweled with flakes of jade and lapis. 
Paul offered to take the oars, but June refused, 
saying he should keep his hands in condition, 
and not run the risk of splashing his instrument. 
She liked to row, she said, and needed the 
exercise. 

They slipped along silently, except for the 
soft dip of the oars, dreaming in the ro¬ 
mantic light. The upper part of the lake was 


“ WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 113 


bordered with sloping green fields, where wil¬ 
lows made a green mist and frogs began to tune 
up for their evening concert. Up on the hill¬ 
side they could see the gypsy camp, and hear 
the faint twanging of a guitar. On another hill 
a dog barked, and a cock crowed, and from 
the other end of the lake came an answering 
crow, almost like an echo, with an elfin tang to 
it. It was easy to understand why the moun¬ 
tain countries like Scotland and Ireland and 
Switzerland had their fascinating tales of elves 
and gnomes and fays, when echoes wandered 
over the surface of quiet waters with such eerie 
tones. 

The opposite shore of the lake was rocky and 
steep, and June kept farther away from the 
bank out of respect to possible submerged 
rocks. At one point a road came down to the 
shore, and there a rude landing was built, with 
a rowboat and a flat scow tied to it. That was 
the ferry, no doubt, and the scow was used to 
transport light cars which wished to make the 
short cut. Near by, the lights of the ferry¬ 
man’s house twinkled, and on a post at the 
landing was a red lantern which served the 
double purpose of marking the end of the road 


114 


JUNE'S QUEST 

on a dark night, and serving as a guide to the 
ferry-man in crossing on a moonless night; and 
on a nail driven into the post there was a horn 
for summoning the ferry-man if he were not 
within sight, or to summon the Scotts when the 
mail-man left mail in their box on a tree near by. 

At the splash of June’s oars, the bearded face 
of the ferry-man appeared at the window of 
his house, together with a chubby, rosy face, 
framed in soft curls — the face of his little 
granddaughter. They waved to June, and 
June raised a dripping oar in salute. 

“ It reminds me of one of those little weather- 
houses,” she said. “ You know the kind, with 
a woman and a man on a stile which swings 
back and forth according to the weather.” 

Paul laughed. “ It does look interesting 
perched up there on the water’s edge. It hasn’t 
been painted, you see. That’s what gives it 
that rustic look.” 

June took in her oars and they floated gently 
past the rocks and pine-trees of the shore, while 
the purple wings of evening folded them round. 
Paul took out his violin and tuned it softly. 
Then he began to play — barcarolles, and 
waltzes, and dreamy selections, and as always 




“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 115 


while her father played, June’s world was filled 
with lovely ladies in formal gardens, ladies in 
flowing white robes who seemed to float on 
marble paths beneath hedges of cypress trees 
which stood out blackly against a moonlit sky. 
She saw scudding clouds behind towers and 
battlements and mediaeval turrets. And 
through it all there was a throbbing as of pas¬ 
sionate longing, a poignant, yearning tragedy 
too deep for tears, which made her think of 
Paolo and Francesca, of Petrarch and Laura, 
of Dante and Beatrice, of Romeo and Juliet, 
personifications of human love and loss. 

Others recognized the same quality in her 
father’s music and spoke of him as the “ violin¬ 
ist with the heartbreak in his music.” And 
now June was beginning to understand. He 
would never be able to tell in words the tragedy 
of his life. He had built a wall of silence and 
reserve around that part of his heart. But 
his soul betrayed him in his playing. And 
there is no instrument which responds more 
readily to the changing moods of the artist than 
the violin, nor is there any shade of human emo¬ 
tion which can not be caught on those four 
strings. 


116 JUNE’S QUEST 

The house where the Scotts lived was un¬ 
lighted, but there was a flash of white on the 
lawn near a rustic summer-house, and as June 
rowed in toward shore and Paul’s music 
sounded louder, several figures came out from 
the summer house and wandered down toward 
the water’s edge. 

June hoped they enjoyed it as much as she 
did. She was sorry when her father wanted to 
go back to camp, and wished that she could 
spend the night lazily drifting in the moonlight. 

But when she reached their camp she realized 
that she was tired, after all. She went right 
to the tent, taking Willy with her, and lay for 
a while looking out at the rocks over which the 
moonlight cast mantillas of fine lace shadows, 
and listening to the lap-lapping of the water. 

Then, very softly, she heard her father play¬ 
ing again, and, with a tone that was almost 

* 

human, his violin sobbed Massenet’s Elegie: 

66 Et c’est en vain que revient le printemps! 

Oui, sans retour avec toi le gai soleil, 

Les jours riants sont partis! ” 


Poor Dad! 


“WINDING RIBBON FLUNG” 117 


A bright star peeped into her tent — spark¬ 
ling like gypsy eyes — the waves made low, 
crooning noises — the moon rode high like a 
pirate ship and scattered golden ducats on the 
hammered-brass tray of the lake — 





CHAPTER IX 


ROMANY GOLD 

“R-r-r-r-r! Wuff! Wuffl” 

June started up in sudden fright. Willy 
stood at the tent flap, with his nose outside, and 
he was barking energetically. The night 
rattled with his clamor. And there was an un¬ 
familiar vicious note in his voice. When he 
paused to take breath, the night seemed still, 
but there was an undercurrent of mystery and 
terror in it. 

“ Willy! ” she breathed, cautiously. 

Willy looked around and remarked, “ Wuff,” 
conversationally, then put his nose outside 
again. 

“ Willy! Come here!” 

But Willy remained in the tent flap. June 
listened intently. Save for the beating of her 
own heart and the ominous growling deep in 
Willy’s throat, everything was calm. The 


118 


ROMANY GOLD 


119 


trees sighed — a branch brushed the wall of the 
tent — a loon mourned somewhere in the 
moonlight. She lay back and sighed. Willy 
had no doubt been dreaming. 

In an instant she sprang up. A footstep 
sounded just outside the tent, and she somehow 
felt the presence of some one there. Was it one 
of the gypsies? They would take anything 
that was not nailed down, Mr. Scott had 
said — 

But on top of her terror came overwhelming 
relief. She heard a familiar voice in guarded 
whisper: “ Lie down, Willy.” 

“ That you, Dad? ” 

“Yes. Did Willy wake you, June? Too 
bad. Go to sleep again.” 

“ I thought I heard something.” 

“ Chipmunk, probably. Willy’s a chip¬ 
munk hound, evidently. Good night, Kid.” 

Before going he bestowed a pat on Willy’s 
nose and whispered a very low “ Good dog,” 
which made Willy wag his tail vigorously. 

“ Now I hope you’re satisfied,” said June, as 
she prepared to finish her interrupted sleep. 

But Willy was not particularly satisfied. 
He dropped to the tent floor, to be sure, but 





120 


JUNE’S QUEST 

his forepaws with his nose between them were 
outside the tent flap, and for a long while his 
restless brown eyes peered through the moon¬ 
light and his ears twitched at every one of the 
subdued night sounds. He would not have 
barked at Paul, and Paul knew it, and down in 
his doggy heart Willy knew that Paul knew 
some one had been abroad. 

It was there that Paul found him in the morn¬ 
ing, asleep, with his nose between his paws, 
half outside the tent. 

June was awakened by the stuttering of a 
motor-boat, and the sound of voices, one of 
them her father’s. Willy cocked an ear, 
sniffed, and uttered a joyous yelp. June 
sprang up and dressed but by the time she had 
reached the tent flap the visitors were gone. 

Paul stood on a rock looking after the re¬ 
treating motor-boat. He turned and smiled at 
her. “ The Scotts,” he explained. “ They 
have saved us the labor of cooking our break¬ 
fast by inviting us up to the house.” 

“Oh!” cried June. “Isn’t that lovely? 
I’m so glad I brought a dress! Just a minute 
and I’ll be with you! ” 

She dove headlong into the tent again and 


ROMANY GOLD 


121 


fumbled in her suitcase. Willy dashed madly 
in and enthusiastically began to help her, but 
was sternly repressed. He went off and sat 
down with his head on one side, hoping she 
would divide the bone or whatever she had 
buried. 

Paul said, afterward, that it took less than 
a minute to transform the slim boyish vaga¬ 
bond into a delightful young lady in a blue 
georgette dress (which was warranted to stand 
packing and repacking without needing press¬ 
ing each time). She fastened the leash to 
Willy’s collar, and they set off through the 
woods by the fern-edged path which led to the 
Scott bungalow. It was a delightful path, 
cool and moist, with dancing sunlight through 
the trees, and delightful holes under roots which 
were especially intriguing to Willy, eager to 
investigate every one. 

“ I wonder what Willy thinks he’ll find in 
these holes? ” panted June, yanking him away 
from one. 

“ He’ll find a skunk in one,” prophesied 
Paul, darkly. 

“ I think he must be some kind of a hunting 
dog, don’t you? ” 


122 


JUNE'S QUEST 

“ Perhaps — a snake terrier or something.” 

They finally reached the Scott bungalow 
without losing Willy down a hole, and found 
Mr. and Mrs. Scott awaiting them on the rustic 
porch. They were ushered into the dining¬ 
room without ceremony. Even Willy was al¬ 
lowed to sit under the table after Mrs. Scott 
had patted him and he had passed judgment 
on her and her husband and cast a tolerant eye 
toward the disdainful cat perched on the win¬ 
dow-sill. 

That breakfast was one of the outstanding 
events of June’s life. Right then and there 
she hoped to grow into a person like Mrs. Scott. 
To begin with, they talked music, and then the 
conversation drifted to other things as they 
dallied over their bacon and eggs and delicious 
hot rolls and fragrant coffee. A rich negro 
voice hummed softly in the kitchen and made a 
pleasant undertone to their thoughts. And 
June found herself taking part in the conver¬ 
sation, largely through the skilful efforts of 
Mrs. Scott, who steered away from technicali¬ 
ties. 

After breakfast, Mrs. Scott took June out 
into the garden to see the roses, and before she 



ROMANY GOLD 123 

knew it, June was telling 1 her a little of her 
longings for a home — a real home, with a rose 
garden and a cat in the window. And while 
Mrs. Scott listened a wistful light came into 
her own eyes. 

“ You haven’t a mother, then? ” she asked 
softly. 

June shook her head. 

“ And I have no daughter. She would have 
been just about your age — I wonder whether 
it is better to have a thing and lose it, or never 
to have it at all? ” 

She stood for a moment looking at the dew- 
drenched larkspurs with eyes just as blue and 
just as wet, then she shrugged her shoulders 
and smiled mistily. 

They came upon the men again, sitting on 
the porch which overlooked the lake. The 
water ruffled in the morning breeze and re¬ 
flected glints of amethyst and lapis lazuli with 
touches of fire on the tips of the waves. The 
men seemed very much at ease. 

Mrs. Scott sighed. “ The lake is never 
twice the same, is it, John? ” 

Mr. Scott made room for her on the bench, 
but she shook her head. “ I think not right 



124 


JUNE’S QUEST 

now, John. If you don’t mind, Mr. Severne, 
I should like to take June to see the gypsies. 
She’d like it, I know.” 

“ Oh, I would,” breathed June, and she 
would have said it in just that awed tone if 
the older woman had proposed a trip to the 
moon. 

They all laughed. 

“ You needn’t think you’re going to get 
away to-day,” Mrs. Scott laughed back over 
her shoulder. “ Not before lunch, anyway, 
because there’ll be fried chicken, Southern 
style, with waffles for luncheon, and you must 
stay for those!” She brought a big, floppy 
hat for June as a protection against the sun 
in the open meadow and June yanked Willy 
away from a knot-hole and they started. 
“ When we come back,” Mrs. Scott prophesied, 
“ we’ll find John and your father sitting on 
that big rock under the dining-room window 
fishing. I don’t know whether your father 
likes to fish or not, but I know John, and no 
man living can help fishing off that rock while 
John’s around! — I’d call your dog away from 
that hole if I were you, June.” 

June pounced upon Willy and fastened the 



ROMANY GOLD 125 

leash to his collar again, giving him a little slap 
which made him flatten his ears and look 
abused. 

“ A skunk lives in that hole — oh, a tame 
one! Last summer I was mortified to death. 
We had guests — some relatives of John’s who 
have never cared particularly for me — and 
of course we tried to make everything as nice 
as we could for them because they don’t go 
in for the rough kind of camp life you folks and 
John and I can endure. They were pretty 
well disgusted, anyway, at some of the make¬ 
shifts which we would call fun. And in the 
midst of it, in walked the skunk, straight 
through the dining-room, carrying a well- 
ripened fish-head. First, Aunt Ethel thought 
it was a cat, but when it dawned on her 
what it was she sat petrified with horror, 
and so did Uncle Amos. John looked ready to 
explode, and I was really worrying more for 
fear he would laugh than from fear of any 
faux pas the skunk might make. He pushed 
the door open and went out. In a little while 
he was back again with a cantaloupe shell. 
Aunt Ethel’s nose turned up an extra degree, 
and her hair fairly bristled. So, although a 




126 


JUNE’S QUEST 

skunk is a perfect gentleman when he is left 
alone, I wouldn’t answer for him if Willy 
frightened him.” 

Almost before she knew it June was telling 
Mrs. Scott about her meeting with Willy and 
her reason for naming him. Mrs. Scott 
laughed girlishly at the recital. 

It was a joy to walk through the field with 
Mrs. Scott. She knew every weed and shrub 
and called it by name. And she sorted out the 
bird-calls which came from all sides near by 
and far away. She knew about the gypsies, 
too. 

“ Gypsies are interesting, aren’t they? ” said 
June. “ It must be an interesting life.” 

Mrs. Scott made a slight grimace. “ Hor¬ 
rors ! They’re a clannish sort of people. We 
Gorgios very seldom are accepted as their 
friends — never into their clan by marriage or 
adoption. I very much doubt the tales of kid¬ 
nappings of children from Gorgio homes. 
However, they’ll steal anything else, so I sup¬ 
pose they wouldn’t draw the line at a child. 
They really think it an evidence of smartness to 
cheat a person in a deal. You have to be shrewd 
to deal with them, and if they are shrewder, they 



ROMANY GOLD 12 7 

think they have won, just as you win by out¬ 
witting your opponent in a game.” 

“ They’re Hungarians, aren’t they, or Rou¬ 
manians, or something? ” 

“ Who knows ? The early people in Europe 
thought they were Egyptians, and that is why 
they called them gypsies. But a study of their 
language seems to connect them with India. It 
may well be. They have been nomads for cen¬ 
turies, keeping to themselves and preserving 
their racial language and customs, and moving, 
always moving restlessly. There’s a fortune¬ 
teller here, too. Shall we see her — not believ¬ 
ing what she says, of course — ? ” 

June’s eyes sparkled an answer. 

They had reached the encampment, and in 
the excitement and bustle of the morning’s 
activity, there seemed an undercurrent of ten¬ 
sion. Willy sniffed and then barked, and the 
hair along his back bristled, and a ruff stood up 
around his neck. He growled deep down in 
his throat. 

“ Hush, Willy,” commanded June and 
tucked him under her arm, from which place he 
yapped and snarled menacingly. 

A man looked up from his work of polishing 




128 JUNE’S QUEST 

a bit of harness and called something over his 
shoulder. The curtains of one of the wagons 
parted, and a girl put her head through. 

She was a pretty girl, not more than June’s 
age, perhaps, but with a much older air, a 
sophisticated self-confidence, a knowledge of 
her own beauty, a sense of maturity. 

“We tell fortunes? ” she invited. “We tell 
the young Miss of her lovers — Yes? ” 

“ In a moment,” smiled Mrs. Scott. She 
passed on to another tent where a woman was 
making baskets which were immediately dis¬ 
played and offered for sale. They chose in¬ 
stead a strip of embroidery, and although a 
young matron insisted that it was for her new¬ 
est baby and not for sale, she finally put a price 
upon it and accepted half of it, gratefully, after 
a little bickering. 

“I feel as though I had robbed her,” whis¬ 
pered June. 

“ Nonsense,” laughed Mrs. Scott. “ She’s 
been making that in my presence ever since she’s 
been here, and displaying it for the sole pur¬ 
pose of selling it to me.” 

The young matron pocketed the money some¬ 
where in her voluminous skirts and laughed, as 


ROMANY GOLD 129 

she nodded an assent. “ Madame drives a hard 
bargain,” she commented, approvingly. 

Three grimy children heard Mrs. Scott’s 
voice and tumbled out of the wagon. Mrs. 
Scott smiled upon them and produced chocolate 
which they hailed with delight. 

“ Look,” whispered June, pointing to the 
bent old figure they had seen the day before. 
“ Such a life is hard on old people like that. 
She looks as if she had been crying, doesn’t 
she?” 

“ Perhaps. And it may be a scheme to wring 
money from us. Come, let’s unveil the future! 
Want me to come in with you? ” 

June hesitated at the steps of the fortune¬ 
teller’s van. “ Yes,” she said, laughing at her 
own nervousness. “ I’ve never had my fortune 
told before.” 

Mrs. Scott smiled. 

There was a little preliminary crossing of a 
hard young palm with silver money and a few 
strange noises, which, combined with the dim 
light inside the van and the unfamiliar sur¬ 
roundings, created an atmosphere of mystery. 

“ Missy follows the road,” began the gypsy 
in a pleasantly deep, clear voice. “ She follows 


130 


JUNE'S QUEST 

the lure of happiness over the hills. And the 
world is wide. Missy is young. She will have 
lovers. I see them — one, two, three — fair, 
are two, and dark the third. And her children 
shall be dark with amber eyes. Three children 
there will be or — is it — four? ” There was 
more along the same strain. Then the girl 
asked Mrs. Scott if she would like her fortune 
told. Mrs. Scott shook her head, smilingly, in 
negation. 

June was obviously thrilled, as they walked 
back across the fields. Mrs. Scott laughed at 
her, tenderly. 

“ Thinking of the three lovers? ” she 
asked, and then put an arm around her and 
pressed her close. 

“Oh, it was a great adventure!” June 
sighed, ecstatically. “ I wonder where I shall 
meet them? ” 

“Who knows?” laughed Mrs. Scott. 
“ There are our men! I told you they would be 
fishing from the rock! ” 

As she prophesied, too, June and Paul did 
not get away from their hospitable camp until 
late in the evening. 

As June and her father walked home along 




ROMANY GOLD 131 

the twisty path in the moonlight, she told him 
of her visit to the fortune-teller’s van. 

“Pooh!” he scoffed. “What did she tell 
you that you don’t know already? ” 

“ Lots of things! ” asserted June, stoutly. 

“ The young football enthusiast, for instance, 
was one of the fair ones — ? ” 

She rubbed her cheek against his arm. 
“ Now you’re making fun of me.” 

Paul stiffened suddenly. The gesture, 
which June had never used before, and the 
tone of her voice coming out of the shadows, 
reminded him poignantly of Olive. Just so 
Olive had rubbed her cheek against his rough 
tweed coat-sleeve, and just so her voice had 
sounded shaken with a laugh out of the shadows. 
Something caught in his throat. 

“ Kid,” he said, huskily, “ keep your dreams 
and your faith in them, no matter what hap¬ 
pens. It is better to sit in the midst of a ruin 
with dreams, than to sit in splendor a blase 
cynic.” 

“ Wuff! ” remarked Willy. 

“ Oh! ” said June, for in the clearing before 
their tent stood a bent figure — the old gypsy 
woman whom they had seen the day before. 




132 


JUNE’S QUEST 

She looked around at them as they came out 
into the full flood of moonlight, and she made 
an uncertain gesture as if to go. 

“ Wait a moment,” said Paul, kindly. “ Did 
you want to see us? ” 

“ I wandered here,” she said, hesitatingly, as 
if English came hard to her tongue. “ I am 
— sorry — ” 

“ You’re in trouble,” said June, impulsively. 
“ Oh, I kriow you are! ” 

At the touch of the young arms about her in 
sympathy, the old woman collapsed. She sat 
down on a rock and wailed, swaying back and 
forth. 

“ What has happened? ” begged June. 
“ Oh, do tell me! ” 

“ My money,” said the old woman, in a dry 
whisper. “ All my gold, my lovely, beautiful 
gold! Handfuls! In a box — a tin box — 
Gone!” 

“ But who would take it? ” asked June. 

She shook her head, helplessly. “ I not 
know. I come — I was led — the money is 
here.” 

“ No, no! ” cried June. 

The old woman suddenly stretched out claw- 





ROMANY GOLD 133 

like hands and her black eyes gleamed. 
“ Here, I tell you. Give it to me! Give me 
my gold! ” 

“ That’s enough,” said Paul, sternly. “ If 
you’ve lost your gold, which I doubt, you’ll not 
find it here. Be off with you! ” 

“ I would not hurt the young missy,” she 
whined. “No. I do not say she took it — 
But — it is here. I see — I see — a man — 
bring the box — hiding it — I hear a dog bark. 
Ha! Your dog!” 

“ Gr-r-r-r,” said Willy, half-heartedly. 

“ I see another man come out of — out of — 
some place. He is too late. He does not 
know. He stops and speaks to the dog.” 

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Paul. 
“ Here, take this and go away. Don’t come 
back, understand? I don’t want to be annoyed 
while we are here. Last night was enough — 
Tell the men of your camp that I am armed 
and will make it hot for the first one I catch 
prowling around here! It isn’t gold, but it’s 
as good. Now go!” 

“Sir — sir! I know. Ah, doesn’t your 
heart tell you — the heart that is broken — 
that lets its music through — ” 












134 


JUNE'S QUEST 

“ Come back in the morning,” said Paul, 
uncomfortably but still sternly. 

The old woman rose to go, and hobbled away 
a few steps. “ My gold! ” she sobbed. “ My 
beautiful, beautiful gold!” 

“ Oh, Dad,” said June, reproachfully. 
“ How could you? She is so old — and to be 
robbed.” 

“ Pshaw! Robbed! ” He sat down at the 
root of a tree. “ You’d better take Willy into 
the tent again, June. I’m going to bunk out 
here. Call Willy away from that hole. What 
has he got, anyway? ” 

44 Willy! ” Willy’s only response was a 
growl and a sniffing of the embers of the old 
camp fire. June picked him up and carried 
him inside, and there was a dull ache in her 
heart, an ache of pity for the old woman, and 
of disappointment in her father’s sympathy. 



CHAPTER X 


PUCK 

June lay awake for a long time that night, 
thinking over the events of the day, and smil¬ 
ing to herself as she recalled the gypsy’s 
prophecy, and as she remembered Mrs. Scott’s 
companionship, frowning a little as she thought 
of the poor old woman who had lost her gold. 
It threw a new light on her father’s personality, 
and she tried to say loyally that she knew he was 
right, but just the same she wondered if he 
had not been a little too harsh. Perhaps the 
gypsy was merely taking advantage of June’s 
youth and sympathy and hoping to get some¬ 
thing by making a scene. It was nice to know 
that her father would protect her against any 
unpleasantness. But still — 

So there had been a prowler about their camp 
the night before! It had not all been imagina¬ 
tion on Willy’s part. Good old Willy! She 

135 



136 JUNE’S QUEST 

turned, restlessly, and Willy whimpered in his 
sleep. 

Then suddenly it was morning, and the sun¬ 
shine streamed through the chinks in the tent 
flap, and the water cast dancing reflections on 
the tent walls. It was early, and although Paul 
wanted to get away that day, there would be 
time for one last swim in that marvelous lake. 

June found Paul already in the water, and 
lost no time in following. Willy ran along the 
bank, barking excitedly, almost frantic when 
June disappeared for an instant. She threw 
sticks for him and tempted him into the water, 
and although he obeyed and went in, it was 
under pressure and he stayed with her, look¬ 
ing reproachfully at her and seemingly won¬ 
dering what on earth she was doing in that 
nasty wet stuff. It was too shallow near the 
shore, and too rocky, to permit diving, but 
farther out it was ideal for swimming and June 
and her father and Willy, when he caught the 
spirit of the thing, had great sport. 

When they came out, Willy promptly shook 
himself, then rolled over and over in the moss 
and ferns. He was left to his own devices more 
or less while Paul found wood for the fire, and 


PUCK 


137 


June dressed, and packed the rest of her things 
into her suitcase. When she emerged from the 
tent, Paul was still away although his bathing 
suit, spread out on a rock in the sun, was be¬ 
ginning to look fuzzy. Willy was busily en¬ 
gaged in digging a hole in the embers of the 
old camp fire. 

“ Willy! ” cried June. 

Willy growled. He stopped his digging for 
a moment and looked at her as if he would say 
he knew his own business, and then went on 
digging with paws and nose, flinging back the 
loose earth in a shower. 

“Willy!” commanded June. “You’re 
making yourself all dirty again! Dad,” as 
Paul emerged, dragging a branch of a tree. 
“ Dad, just look at Willy! ” 

Paul looked and laughed, for the dog did 
look comical with the smudge of wet clay on 
his nose, and a sort of desperately earnest ex¬ 
pression on his face. 

“ G’way, Willy,” he said, shoving him aside. 
“No woodchuck in there! Y ou made that hole 
yourself! ” 

But Willy resisted, strenuously, and sniffed 
the earth and growled menacingly. 


138 


JUNE’S QUEST 

Paul regarded him thoughtfully. “June, 
animals sometimes have more common sense 
than we give them credit for. Let’s see what 
he finds.” 

“ Doesn’t that clay look loose for a new 
hole? ” asked June, suddenly. 

Paul flashed her a look. “ I was thinking 
that myself.” He went to the car and re¬ 
turned with a pair of spoons. “ Let’s help.” 

Willy accepted their help as a matter of 
course and for a few moments two spoons and 
two forefeet and a nose busily shoveled out 
earth. 

“ This has been tampered with,” said Paul. 
“ Maybe — ” A ringing sound interrupted 
him. 

“ Oo! Dad! I hit something then! ” She 
hit it again and it gave out a tinny ring. “ The 
gypsy treasure! ” 

In a trice it lay uncovered. It was a long 
tin box, battered and worn and bent, the warped 
lid tied down with a piece of knotted jute 
string. 

June held it, then her hands trembled. 
“Do — do — you suppose it is the gold 
or — ? ” 



PUCK 139 

Paul laughed at her. “ What else could it 
be, June? ” 

Nevertheless, he took the box and untied the 
string, shielding the contents from her sight. 

It was gold. Hundreds of pieces — a for¬ 
tune indeed. There were old-fashioned gold 
dollars, later pieces of two and a half and five 
and ten dollar denominations. 

“ Do you suppose it was that old woman’s, 
Dad? Or do you think she buried it here and 
we surprised her when she came back for it? ” 

“ No. It was stolen from her and buried. 
Clever of him, wasn’t it, to bury it where we 
had made our camp fire, and then rake the 
embers over it? ” 

“ Let’s see if we can find her, shall we? ” 

“ You go, and I’ll make the fire and have 
breakfast for you. Don’t stay too long, and 
take Willy.” 

Willy was disgusted that there were no bones 
in the hole, but he accepted the situation phil¬ 
osophically. He was learning that people 
sometimes buried things in boxes, but they 
were seldom bones. People were very hard to 
understand. 

June found the old woman sitting discon- 



140 JUNE’S QUEST 

solately at the root of a tree on the outskirts of 
the camp. She looked at June and her black 
eyes snapped. 

44 You have found it,” she said, calmly. 

June nodded. 

44 It is in an old tin box,” went on the old 
woman. 44 There are a hundred dollar pieces, 
some of them as old as 1870, and some larger 
pieces. They are wrapped in a piece of em¬ 
broidery with a pomegranate design worked in 
crimson silk and thread of gold.” 

June handed over the box. 44 Better count 
them and see that they are all there. Perhaps 
the thief took a few.” 

44 They are all there,” stated the old woman, 
without lifting the lid. 44 He did not take any. 
And you would not. — And he was my son. 
Ah, me. Just a few years and he would have 
them anyway. But that is life, my child — 
greed, unhappiness.” She drew herself up 
with sudden dignity. 44 Sit down by me, my 
child, and I will tell you your fortune.” 

44 One of the girls told me yesterday,” ven¬ 
tured June, awed by the piercing scrutiny of 
the uncanny black eyes. 

44 Pah! ” the withered lips spat her disgust 


PUCK 


141 


and the black eyes blazed more fiercely than 
ever. “ She! She knows nothing. I — 1 

— can tell fortunes. Listen. I will tell you. 
Girl with the amber eyes — you follow the 
twisting road, mile upon mile. You see more 
than trees and rocks and hills. Your eyes look 
into the past, they pierce the veil of the future. 
Years ago — I see — a pointed tower — a 
steep, winding street — flames — hurry and 
madness — willows and moonlight and a canal 

— and loss, loss to the soul, to the heart of him. 
I see people at his feet as he plays — I see you 
going forward with the song of a bird in your 
heart — the song of a bird at nesting time — 
the thrill of a pigeon that is homing. I see a 
village with two twisted willows at the side of 
a bridge — I see a youth, tall and stalwart, with 
dark hair and blue eyes to match your amber 
ones — and at the end of the curving road — 
at a twist where you can pause while the road 
winds on at the other side, I see your heart’s 
desire — ” 

“ My mother? ” breathed June. 

“ The desire of your heart — the end of the 
quest — ” She rose stiffly. “ Tell — him. 
If he scoffs say one word to him — 1 Puck.’ 















142 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Here ” — She took a hoop of gold from her 
left ear lobe and held it out in her gnarled brown 
hand. “Take it. Do not refuse a gift, Gorgio 
girl! Take it, and if you are in need, seek the 
nearest of my people and show this. They will 
honor it, for I am not quite what I seem. Even 
royalty grows old, but there is still respect, save 
from the queen’s own children. Ah, well.” 

June felt herself dismissed, and there was 
something in the bearing of the bent old figure 
which made the claim of royalty not so very odd 
after all. She went slowly back to the clearing, 
pondering over the occurrence. 

“ I feel as if I had stepped into a fairy tale,” 
she laughed as she began the breakfast her 
father had ready for her. And then she went on 
to tell him about it. 

“ She was so glad to have it back again. She 
gave me an earring — and I wouldn’t have been 
a bit surprised if she had turned into a fairy 
or something. She did say that if I ever get 
into trouble to go to the nearest gypsy caravan 
and they would recognize a gift from their 
queen — just like the mediaeval kings did, 
you know, when they sent messengers with their 
personal signet ring.” 





“Take it. Do not refuse a gift. Pays 142 . 





PUCK 


143 


Paul saw her eyes wide with dreams, and her 
lips quivering with earnestness, and he forebore 
to laugh; only his eyes twinkled. 

“ And she told my fortune, Dad.” 

“ How did it compare with yesterday’s? ” 

“ It was rather different — but truer.” 

“ Did she tell you about the football fan with 
the fair hair? ” 

“ Xo. She told me things only I know and 

— and — she told me about our quest and the 
fire in the towered house in the town in Franee 

— and — and — other things — beautiful 
things — ” 

Paul looked thoughtful. “ Funny she 
should have known about that French town, 
though, June.” 

“ She said — ” June’s eyes glowed with a 
mystic awe. “ She said ‘flames — hurry and 
madness — willows and moonlight and a canal 
— and loss, loss to the soul, to the heart of 
him! " 

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “ She knew 
it because you did. If you had not had it in 
your mind, she could not have gotten it out. 
It’s all a humbug, June. It isn’t possible to 
read the future. Thank heaven it isn’t! If I 












144 


JUNE’S QUEST 

could have seen into the future fifteen years 
ago, I should have lost my mind! ” 

June nodded. “ She said you would scoff, 
and if you did I was to say one word to you — 
‘ Puck’. ” 

" What? " 

Willy ran away three paces, then came back, 
sheepishly, and eyed Paul nervously. 

Paul’s eyes were wide and incredulous, and 
his nostrils were pinched in and white. “ She 
said — wliat? She couldn’t have! I tell you, 
June, no one knew — no one! ” 

June looked startled, too. “ What does it 
mean? ” she faltered. 

Paul started off as if he would rush headlong 
into the gypsy camp, then swung around and 
walked back rapidly, and Willy got out of his 
way. 

“ It was your mother’s nickname for me — 
her private name never used even before you! 
How could she have gotten hold of it? I tell 
you no one knew! ” 

“ Do we have to explain it? ” ventured June. 
“Can’t we — maybe — just say we don’t 
understand, but perhaps it is true — and a — 
a clue to Mother? ” 





PUCK 145 

He strode toward the tent. “ You finish 
your breakfast, June, and we’ll get started as 
soon as we can. I want to see that gypsy and 
talk to her about it. If I were you, I’d keep 
that earring in a safe place — not that I be¬ 
lieve she is a queen or anything, but they’re a 
clannish people and the very fact that you have 
a gift from her would give you a claim on any 
other if you should need help.” 

“ I would keep it for sentiment, anyway,” 
said June and looked at it as it lay in the palm 
of her hand. She decided that the sight of it 
would recall to her the burning eyes of the old 
gypsy and the memory of the words: “ The 
song of a bird in your heart — the song of a 
bird at nesting time — the thrill of a pigeon 
that is homing. . . . And at the end of the 
curving road — I see your heart’s desire.” 

By the time she was through breakfast the 
tent had been struck and packed into the back 
of Maryannelizabeth, and June helped Paul to 
pick up the slight litter of their two nights’ 
camping. Willy ran around in circles barking, 
stopping now and then to peer into holes, but 
generally too excited to pause long. He had 
soon learned what such preparations meant, 




146 


JUNE’S QUEST 

and he was always eager to take to the road 
again to roam in pastures new where there were 
unexplored holes and possibly buried bones. 

They were off again, through the gold- 
stippled woods, and out into the field where the 
gypsies were encamped. There in the open 
field, knee deep among the feathery grasses, 
stood the gypsy queen, a withered, warped, yet 
somehow truly regal figure. She shaded her 
eyes with her hand, but made no move to signal 
them, nor did she move when Paul stopped 
the car close to her and climbed out over the 
wheel. 

He approached her, hat in hand. “ I want to 
tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated 
you last night in camp,” he said, directly and 
honestly. 

The black eyes lighted with pleasure. “ It 
is not always that we know the right thing,” she 
said, simply. It is not always that we have 
the courage to say we have been wrong.” 

“ I appreciate your gift to my daughter,” he 
went on — “ Especially — ” 

She bent her head slightly. “ Your daugh¬ 
ter’s heart is on the highway. There was 
something else you would say? ” 




PUCK 147 

“Yes. How did you know about — 
Puck? ” 

The wrinkles at the corner of her eyes deep¬ 
ened. “ How? I do not know. It is given 
to me to know things, not to know how I know 
them.” 

“ Did you know her? Have you seen her? 
Where is she? ” 

“ I do not know her. I have not seen her. 
But you will find her at the curve of a road 
when you come to the end of the quest.” 

“ This summer? ” 

44 Who knows? ” 

44 You can add another gold piece if you will 
tell,” he hinted. 

She spread out her hands. 44 One finds hap¬ 
piness at the end of the quest. Who knows 
when a quest ends? ” 

44 I shall succed, then? Is she alive? ” He 
looked deep into the inscrutable eyes, which he 
vaguely felt were mocking him. 44 Is the end 
of the quest the grave? ” 

44 Who knows? And success — success is 
after all but relative. Have you, then, but one 
quest to be crowned with success? Fortunate 
youth.” 



148 


JUNE’S QUEST 

He paused. “ Who has? ” he admitted, for 
suddenly he knew that his search for his lost 
wife was not the only thing in his life. His 
violin and the people who loved his music — 
June meeting boys in lobbies of movie theatres 
— the black eyes watched him knowingly. 
He bowed. 

“ I hope our trails will cross again, some¬ 
where along the road.” 

He sprang into the car again and started it. 
June looked back as they reached the lane, and 
the queen still stood in the tall grass, like a 
gigantic poppy with her wide-spreading crim¬ 
son skirt and crimson headdress, and she was 
looking after them under a shading hand. 


CHAPTER XI 

CUCKOO 

Right where the lane joined the highway, Mr. 
and Mrs. Scott were waiting to speed the vaga¬ 
bonds on their way. June was especially glad 
to see Mrs. Scott, and insisted upon her father 
tarrying long enough so that she might tell them 
all the details of the recovery of the treasure. 
The Scotts listened delightedly. 

Then, while Mr. Scott was interested in an 
ingenious home-made affair which Paul had 
put upon his car, and was laughing at Paul’s 
explanation of it, and the make-up of it, June 
found time to tell Mrs. Scott of the prophecy 
in all its beauty. The day before, June had 
told her a little of the object of their quest, and 
so Mrs. Scott was interested in the gypsy’s 
knowledge. 

“ They are strange people,” she repeated. 


149 


ISO 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“It is hard to know just how much of their 
fortune-telling is some strange gift and how 
much of it is pure trickery. But I hope it 
comes out well, and my little Lady-bird will 
find a cozy nest by a curve in the road at the 
journey’s end. Write to me, and come to see 
me in town.” 

“ Oh, I shall,” promised June. 

They parted at last, and June waved to them 
as long as she could see them. 

“Aren’t they lovely people?” she sighed. 
“ She used to have a girl like me, she said.” 

“ She’s fond of you, June.” 

“ I know. I could feel it. — Dad? ” 

“ What?” 

“You don’t suppose — suppose — she’s 
Mother, do you? ” 

“ Heavens, no! ” 

“ You’re sure? ” 

“ Positive! Don’t you suppose I’d know her 
if — when I see her again?” 

“ But if she had been — married again — 
and — What would you do? ” 

“You have too lively an imagination for me, 
June. I don’t know. But don’t worry your 
head about it. If we find she is married again 




CUCKOO 151 

*— then will be time enough to worry, and de¬ 
cide what to do.” 

44 You sound as if you expect to see her,” 
said June, impishly. 44 In spite of what you 
said about gypsy fortunes.” 

44 I have always expected to find her again,” 
he said quietly. 44 Willy, you must not lick my 
chin! It’s going to be an awfully hot day, 
June. Let’s plan for lunch at a farmhouse or 
a tea-room instead of making a fire.” 

44 Suits me,” agreed June. 

They found a tea-room on the outskirts of a 
pretty village. The cook in the kitchen wel¬ 
comed Willy literally with open arms and fed 
him generously, while his mistress and master 
were treated quite as regally in the tea-room 
itself. 

The room was cool, and tastefully furnished, 
and the food was good. There was not only 
the inevitable chicken dinner but there were 
other good things as well. And there was a 
pleasant girl for a waitress, whom they after¬ 
ward found to be one of the proprietors. 

44 It’s an unusually exciting day for Clover- 
dale,” volunteered the girl. 

44 Why? ” asked Paul, noting her high color 


152 


JUNE’S QUEST 

and sparkling eyes and general air of repressing 
something with an effort. 

“ Right up on the hill — you’ll see the towers 
and walls when you go past —, there’s an insane 
asylum. One of the inmates escaped this 
morning and the whole village is out hunting 
for him.” She took a folded paper out of the 
pocket of her apron. It was a small, roughly 
printed handbill. “ The printing shop ran 
these off in a hurry, and they’re posted up al¬ 
ready. They describe him.” 

June looked at it with interest tinged with 
pity. “ A young man,” she murmured. 
“ Dark hair and blue eyes, medium height, cul¬ 
tured, pleasant voice, attractive personality. 
Believes himself to be Shakespeare and quotes 
poetry. Harmless.” 

“ He sounds more attractive than some peo¬ 
ple who are at large,” said Paul, with a grin. 

“ Some of them are,” nodded the girl. 
“ Quite a number are just eccentric and put 
there because their families are embarrassed by 
their queer ways. One got loose once before,” 
she went on with a reminiscent smile. “We 
had just come here, and we were worried to 
death. We thought he would come here and 




CUCKOO 


153 


do something terrible. Sure enough, he did 
come here, and he chopped our wood and made 
our fires and did odd jobs, and we fed him for 
a week until some one recognized him. Every 
time we looked at that ax for weeks afterward 
it gave us cold shivers. And, yet, come to 
think of it, he wasn’t so violent as some of the 
customers who come in here and think they’re 
perfectly sane. Some of the patients up there, 
who are just there for treatment for a while, 
come into the tea-room, with a ‘ companion,’ 
and you’d never know anything was wrong. 
The violent ones, and the very much unbal¬ 
anced ones, of course, they keep under close 
guard, and they are never allowed outside the 
grounds. We went through the place. It’s 
really very interesting, and not all gruesome 
nor unpleasant! ” 

“ It seems horrible, though,” shuddered 
June. “I’d be scared to death if I met this 
man.” 

“ I shouldn’t,” smiled the girl. “ There’s a 
fifty-dollar reward for him, and I could use it 
very nicely. I’d rather return an escaped 
lunatic than an escaped convict, because the 
lunatic isn’t being punished. He’s just sick, 


154 


JUNE’S QUEST 

while a convict is being returned to degradation 
and perhaps to death.” 

“ Just the same,” said Paul, with a shake of 
his head, “ society wouldn’t back you up. A 
criminal shouldn’t be at large, and society 
should protect itself from murderers by remov¬ 
ing them, while a lunatic may be perfectly 
harmless. After all, it’s my private opinion 
that a lot more lunatics are outside of institu¬ 
tions than are in them — and worse ones, too.” 

“ From what I know of people inside and 
outside the institution,” laughed the girl, “ I 
agree with you. You can take that handbill 
along if you want to.” 

It was with interest that they surveyed the 
towered building as they passed. Even Willy 
seemed to know that they were interested, and 
looked, too. But he soon lost interest, for he 
saw no cats, and buried bones were of no im¬ 
mediate interest to him then. 

“ We ought to make Shirley by this evening,” 
said Paul, “ and if a thunder shower doesn’t 
upset things, this is just the night to sleep out¬ 
doors.” 

But Maryannelizabeth thought otherwise. 
She stopped a scant half-mile beyond the asy- 


CUCKOO 


155 


lum and refused to go on. She seemed over¬ 
come with the heat. Nothing Paul could do 
would induce her to move. 

Paul groaned. “ Of course you would have 
to die right in the sun, wouldn’t you? ” he said, 
resignedly. He got out and looked her over. 
Apparently she was all right. She had a 
slight fever in her engine, but otherwise she 
seemed healthy. She had plenty of gasoline, 
plenty of water, and enough, but not too much, 
oil. Paul got in again and started — or at¬ 
tempted to. Maryannelizabeth refused to start. 

A man who was hoeing in a field came to the 
fence and watched in silence. 

Paul looked up. “ Got a ’phone? ” he asked. 
The man shook his head. Paul looked around 
the skyline. No telltale wires marked tele¬ 
phone service. So he grimly set about an¬ 
other examination of Maryannelizabeth’s in¬ 
terior. June and Willy and the “ Man With 
the Hoe ” watched him. 

“ Can I help? ” asked June. 

“ No. Keep out of the sun.” Paul’s 
voice was rather sharp and his face showed his 
exasperation. “ Plague take the old flivver, 
anyway! ” 


156 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Havin’ trouble? ” asked the man with the 
hoe, mildly. 

Paul snorted. “ There’s nothing for it, 
June, but for me to go to the village to that 
garage we passed. Unless I find a ’phone 
along the way. You stay here. ’ ’ 

June pushed the damp hair back from a wet 
forehead. 

“ Couldn’t Willy and I go over under those 
trees, Dad? It would be cooler.” 

Paul turned to the man with the hoe. “ They 
your trees? ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ Do you mind if my daughter and her dog 
go over there in the shade? ” 

“ Nup.” 

“ Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can make 

•i »» 

it. 

The man went on hoeing and Paul set off 
through the blistering sun toward the town 
they had just left, and June and Willy set 
out for the line of trees down in the hollow 
across two sunny fields. 

Willy seemed rather bored by everything. 
His ears and his tail drooped. He looked like 
some one being taken somewhere against his 


CUCKOO 157 

will, resigned to his fate, but not enjoying it at 
all. He was so tame and quiet that June took 
off his leash. 

“ Poor thing,” she said. “ Don’t keep that 
hot leather thing on. Be free! ” 

Willy shook himself. Then with a shrill 
yelp he started off through the grass. 

“ Willy! ” cried June alarmed. “Willy! 
Come back here! ” 

But Willy only tossed his ears more wildly 
and leaped over a tall stalk of chicory. 

June forgot the heat and the sun and every¬ 
thing except the fact that Willy was running 
away, and although she believed he would come 
back to her — she thought dogs did that, but 
she wasn’t sure — he might get into mischief 
in the meantime. Didn’t dogs kill chickens, or 
eat eggs, or kill sheep, or something? 

“ Willy! ” she called, persuasively. “ Come, 
Willy. Nice doggie!” 

Willy paused, resting on his fore-elbows, his 
hindquarters high, with his tail waving like a 
conquering banner. Then with a joyous bark, 
he tossed his ears again and was off. Again he 
stopped and charged, with open mouth, pant¬ 
ing, and then ran away again. It was great 


158 


JUNE’S QUEST 

fun. It seemed to June’s irritated eyes that 
he was grinning at her. Perhaps he was. 

Finally June chased him into the shade of 
the trees, and there Willy forgot his game. 
He sniffed. There were holes in the roots of 
the trees — intriguing holes. He began to 
hunt, industriously, and June followed, glad 
that he was quieting down, and hoping he would 
forget his game and let her get close enough to 
put the leash on him again. 

He worked over toward a clump of elder¬ 
berry-bushes which fringed the margin of a 
little stream. Then he stopped. So did June, 
for a voice came to them quite distinctly. It 
was a cultured, pleasant voice, with a rich depth 
to it. 

“ Where the sun shines on the highway, 

Where the birds sing on the byway. 

That’s the road that will be my way, 

All the day.” 

The voice paused, then went on in prose this 
time. “ Not so bad! Hm! Mrs. Blank, 
good day to you. May I show you my line of 
soft, soothing soaps for sensitive skins? Abso¬ 
lutely guaranteed not to rub, burn, chap, or 
irritate in any way the tenderest skin. Have 



CUCKOO 159 

you a baby in your home, Madam? Try this 
powder — ” 

June peeped through the elderberry-bushes, 
and her eyes grew round with excitement. A 
young man stood in a grassy clearing, entirely 
surrounded with elders bearing their lace-like 
flowers and filling the air with their heavy 
fragrance. He was of medium height, dark, 
and his eyes, which were fixed upon an elder¬ 
berry-bush with stern intent, were blue. His 
voice, as she had noted before, was cultured and 
pleasant, and he was reciting poetry! The 
lunatic! What should she do? If she only 
had a rope, she might surprise him and capture 
him. If she had some one to help her — if he 
would only stay there until Paul came — if — 
if — . Oh, it was maddening to have a lunatic 
almost caught! Like the boy scout and the 
bear, only the bear had the boy scout and the 
boy scout couldn’t let go, while she had the 
lunatic — or at least she didn’t have him — 
And, after all, she might have known she could 
leave it to Willy. 

Willy gave a series of agonized yelps and 
dashed into the clearing and proceeded to tear 
around it — around and around and around, 






160 


JUNE’S QUEST 

yelping, until June was dizzy. She plunged in 
after him, then stopped. He was not playing 
now. Something had happened to him. His 
eyes were wild and he was galloping as if some¬ 
thing were at his heels and he was — he was! 
— foaming at the mouth. 

The lunatic had turned at Willy’s first yelp 
and watched him for an instant, as did June, 
both startled and alarmed. 

“He’s mad!” she screamed and jumped 
back. “Oh, Willy! Poor, poor Willy! — 
Go away! Oh, go away! ” 

The lunatic advanced. “ Don’t scream that 
way,” he said, quietly. “ You’ll excite him 
more. What’s his name? Willy? — Here, 
Willy. Come, Willy.” He made a sudden 
grab and caught Willy as he went past and 
held him firmly. 

“ He’ll bite you,” gasped June. “ He’s 
mad.” 

The lunatic knelt and felt Willy’s heaving 
ribs and stroked him gently. Willy continued 
to yelp, shrilly, and enthusiastically. 

“ He isn’t mad,” said the lunatic. 

“ But he’s foaming at the mouth and run- 

• ?> 
nmg — 




CUCKOO 161 

“ Well? You don’t know much about dogs, 
do you? Let me tell you, half the dogs that 
are killed are not mad at all, but have been 
hurt or are hunting water or have been tortured 
by some kid.” 

His hands had been feeling experi¬ 
mentally here and there on Willy’s body — 
long, slender, brown hands, they were — and 
suddenly they stopped on Willy’s nose. They 
wiped away the froth, and then felt, and Willy 
howled. 

“ Ah, here it is! Since it takes both hands 
to hold this bunch of fur, suppose you fetch me 
some mud, please? ” 

“ Mud?” 

“ Yes. Sorry to ask it, your Highness, but 
after all he’s your dog.” 

" Mud? " 

“ M-u-d. Mud. There’s the creek and 
there’s some earth, so bring me a generous hand¬ 
ful, will you? — Please? All right, old chap, 
just a second and you’ll feel fine. Just lie 
quiet and think of only pleasant things! ” 

June suddenly remembered that the best 
way to deal with lunatics was to humor them. 
So she scooped up a handful of oozy mud from 



162 JUNE'S QUEST 

the bank of the little creek and brought it to 
him. He held Willy’s nose. 

“ Put it right there, please — See that 
bump? Fine! ” He smoothed it over with a 
thumb and Willy stopped yelping. He tried 
to lick the thumb. He panted or grinned. 
And he thumped the earth with his tail. He told 
in various ways that he felt much, much better. 
He felt so much better that he sighed and closed 
his eyes, as if to tell them both that he was 
worn out and desired to sleep and he should not 
be aroused for anything smaller than a wood¬ 
chuck. 

June swallowed her pride. “What — 
what was it? ” she asked. 

“ Something stung him. A bee, perhaps, or 
a hornet.” Willy opened one eye and licked 
his thumb. “ Poor old chap. Nobody knew 
what was wrong with him! ” 

Willy sighed and rolled over. Those gentle 
brown hands knew just where he had always 
wanted to be scratched. 

“ Oh,” whispered June. “ And I thought 
he was mad! He was suffering — I knew he 
put his nose into holes! — Fie was suffering 
and I never knew it! — He — he loved me 



CUCKOO 163 

right from the very first time when I thought 
he was a ghost and now he’ll never forgive me 
— Do you suppose? ” 

She knew she was talking incoherently, and 
she knew that tears were in her eyes and in her 
voice, but Willy, her Willy, was licking a 
stranger’s hand because a stranger had re¬ 
lieved him. 

“ A man wouldn’t forgive — and a woman 
wouldn’t — unless maybe your mother — But 
a dog — Well, just try him.” 

June touched Willy gently and Willy licked 
her hand and rolled up his adoring eyes and 
thumped his tail, and a tear fell on his muddy 
nose. But the lunatic didn’t see, for he was 
looking in the other direction. 

And suddenly June knew that she didn’t care 
if he was a lunatic and did quote poetry to elder¬ 
berry-bushes. He could quote a whole volume 
of Shakespeare to all the elderberry-bushes in 
the country and she wouldn’t give him up to the 
keepers again! 




CHAPTER XII 


“ THIS IS VERY MIDSUMMER MADNESS ” 

June gave Willy one more pat and then rose 
briskly. 

“ Come, Willy,” she remarked. 

The lunatic turned. “ Don’t go! I mean 
that you shouldn’t take your pup out into the 
hot sun so soon.” 

Willy sighed and closed his eyes. 

“ You see,” went on the young man, “ he 
is really tired, and it would do him heaps of 
good to lie still. Where did you get him? 
You said something about a ghost, if I re¬ 
member correctly.” 

June hesitated. Then in her mind a daring 
plan exploded. She decided, not only not to 
turn him over to the asylum, but to help him 
to get away! She would urge her father to 
give him a lift, and then let him go safely. She 
felt she owed him that much for helping Willy. 

164 


“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 165 


So she sat down and told him the thrilling 
tale of the haunted house and Willy’s appear¬ 
ance, and the young man enjoyed it. He 
grinned all the way through it, when he wasn’t 
laughing outright. 

“ I like Willy a whole lot,” she ended. 
“ You see, I never had a pet before.” 

“ That’s tough,” sobering suddenly. “ Do 
your folks object to pets around the house? ” 

“No. I don’t live at home — I have no 
mother, and I am at school except in the sum¬ 
mer when I go around with Dad. We’re — 
we’re like knights of old on a quest.” 

“ Just what kind of a quest could a girl fare 
forth on? Or are they slaying dragons and 
rescuing princes in distress in these days of 
equal rights? ” 

June smiled and reflected that he little knew 
how close to truth the latter was. “ We’re 
hunting some one,” she said. “ Some one who 
disappeared long, long ago.” 

“ Ha! The plot thickens! Each year the 
hero and heroine fare forth upon the open 
highway to find the lost che-ild who was ab¬ 
ducted by gypsies.” 

“ Speaking of gypsies,” put in June, hur- 


166 


JUNE'S QUEST 

riedly, “ we had another adventure last night.” 

“ As exciting as the haunted house? ” 

“ In a different way.” And then she told 
him about the gypsy treasure, wondering the 
while why her father didn’t come for her or 
sound his horn. Surely he had returned by 
this time! The young man listened to the tale 
with flattering interest while Willy whiffled in 
his sleep. June stopped in the middle of the 
prophecy, for there wasn’t any sense in telling 
him of the man with the blue eyes — his own 
were so intensely blue — and he wouldn’t 
understand the reference to the little house at 
the curve of the road. 

“ You do have interesting adventures! ” he 
said. 

“ I always do,” she nodded. “ All kinds of 
foolish things happen to me. I keep them all 
in a book. I call it my 4 Book of Foolish Ad¬ 
ventures.’ It helps to make them more inter¬ 
esting when I think how I’m going to write 
them down. And it’s fun to read them to the 
girls.” 

She wondered what he would think if he knew 
that she was living the most thrilling adventure 
of her whole life right then — helping a hand- 






SO SHE SAT DOWN AND TOLD HIM THE THRILLING TALE OF 
THE HAUNTED HOUSE. — Page 165. 




“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 167 


some young lunatic to escape from an asylum! 

“ I should think it would,” he agreed. “ I 
like to write, too — poetry mostly.” 

Shakespeare! In another minute he would 
tell her — perhaps even recite some of his son¬ 
nets. But just at that moment she heard a 
voice calling her from near by. 

“ Here I am, Dad,” she called back, and 
Willy, still playing the part of an invalid, 
yelped faintly. “ Willy’s had an accident. 
He — he — collided with a bee, or something.” 

Willy wagged his tail, feebly, as Paul came 
through the elders. Paul looked surprised at 
seeing the young man, and June explained. 

“ If it hadn’t been for this young man know¬ 
ing all about mud, he would be running around 
in circles yet.” 

Paul laughed. “ Well, June, I don’t know 
what it’s all about, but if the young man’s 
knowledge of mud prevents him from running 
around in circles, it is quite valuable knowl¬ 
edge.” 

They all laughed. Wonderful, June 
thought, what a sense of humor lunatics have. 

“ Willy was doing the running,” she gurgled, 
“ and I thought he was mad, but it was only a 





168 


JUNE'S QUEST 

bee-sting on his nose. And wasn’t it clever to 
put mud on his nose? ” 

“Very. Poor Willy,” sympathized Paul. 
Willy whined and rolled his eyes up, and waved 
one paw vaguely. 

“ Did you find a garage man, Dad? ” 

“ No. He’d gone home.” 

“ There’s a garage in Cloverdale,” volun¬ 
teered the young man. “ I noticed it as I 
came through this morning.” 

Paul looked at him. “ You don’t live in this 
section, then? Pity. You look like a person 
who would have a ’phone. My car died.” 

The young man looked up with a gleam in 
his eyes. “ I know a little about cars, though 
I’m a soap salesman just at present. Perhaps 
I can find what’s wrong. — Er — You have gas 
and oil in it? ” 

“ For a wonder, yes.” 

Paul’s eyes met June’s questioningly. Be¬ 
ing behind the stranger, she tapped her fore¬ 
head and made a circling motion with her finger 
to indicate wheels. He looked rather puzzled. 

“ I’d be glad if you’d look at it,” he sug¬ 
gested, “ and we can give you a lift to the 
nearest town.” He looked about him, whim- 



“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 169 


sically. “ This doesn’t look like very good 
territory for a soap salesman.” 

“I’d be glad to,” assented the young man 
with alacrity, and a spark of appreciation 
kindled in Paul’s eye. Perhaps, he thought, 
if June had been a boy, or less attractive, the 
prospect of tinkering with a stranded vaga¬ 
bond car would not have been so appealing. 

“ I am Paul Severne,” he hinted, judging 
that June had not introduced them because she 
didn’t know the stranger’s name. 

The blue eyes twinkled. “ Delighted to 
make your acqaintance, Mr. Severne,” he said, 
soberly. “ I am Max Hershfield.” 

“ You’ve changed considerably since I saw 
you last,” said Paul, drily. 

For a second the two men looked at each 
other, then to June’s surprise, the younger one 
became red and confused. 

“ I thought you were joking — I — . Of 
course you are Mr. Severne — and I have 
heard you play. But I thought — because you 
looked like him — I didn’t mean to be fresh — 
I’m Jerry Laughton.” 

“ It’s all right. Such is fame,” laughed 
Paul. “ Come on, Willy. Stop shamming.” 







170 


JUNE’S QUEST 

He led the way to the stranded car, with June 
and Jerry following, and a subdued Willy limp¬ 
ing along in the rear, seeming to have forgotten 
that his nose was the wounded part. June 
tried to figure out the cleverness of the lunatic 
in telling her father he was some one else. She 
had fully expected him to blurt out, “ William 
Shakespeare,” and have her father take him 
into custody, without giving her a chance to 
plead for him. Still, she had heard that luna¬ 
tics were sometimes clever in hiding their lu¬ 
nacy. He even had a small sample-case, she 
noticed, and she would not be surprised if he 
had cakes of real soap in it. 

“ There she lies,” said Paul, pointing to 
Maryannelizabeth in the middle of the hot, 
dusty road. “ And what’s the matter with her, 
I don’t know.” 

“ Her name is Maryannelizabeth,” June 
added. 

“ Ah,” said Jerry, soberly, “ it’s always best 
to know the customer’s — I mean the patient’s 
— name. Let me see if I can pour soft soap 
through the troubled waters of her spirit. 
Maryannelizabeth — what a pretty name. 
Any one can see you have inherited a love of 





“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 171 


beauty from your cultured ancestors. Or why 
should you have chosen such a beautiful spot for 
a picnic on this lovely afternoon? The view is 
indeed remarkable.” 

Right then June gasped so audibly that both 
Paul and Jerry turned to look at her. Across 
the field came the man with the hoe — only 
without it this time — walking between two 
men in uniform. As he came he declaimed in a 
loud voice: 

“ fi I prithee let me bring thee where crabs grow; 

And I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts ; 

Show thee a jay’s nest and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee 
To clustering filberts and sometimes I’ll get thee, 
Young; scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with 
me’ ? ” 

The three of them clambered over the fence. 

“ Well I remember the day I penned those 
words,” went on the man, as the three of them 
crossed the road. “ We sat on a settle before 
the fire in the Mermaid Tavern — Ben Jonson 
was there, too, an I mistake not. I borrowed 
his great knife to sharpen me a new quill, and 
I dipped the point of the sleeve of my jerkin 
into a dab of ale which lay spilled upon the 



172 


JUNE’S QUEST 

rough table. I can hear the noise of Ben Jon- 
son’s laughter and the scrape of his feet in the 
rushes on the floor — ” 

They had climbed the other fence and their 
voices were muffled and indistinct and trailed 
away altogether. 

“ The — the lunatic,” babbled June. “ I 
thought — I thought — . And I was helping 
you to escape because you saved Willy! ” 

She looked at Jerry accusingly, and Jerry 
stared at her. Then, without any warning 
Jerry and Paul exploded. They sat down in 
the weeds by the fence and whooped, and June 
laughed, too, although she felt foolish. “ I 
heard you reciting poetry — ” she gurgled. 

“ Did you hear me spouting? Then I’ll ad¬ 
mit the appearances were against me!” 

“ But you don’t understand,” went on June. 

“ They told us at the tea-room that the lunatic 
thought he was Shakespeare and quoted his 
poetry every time he got the chance. So — . 
Otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought you were 
the lunatic just because one happened to be 
loose! ” 

“ I don’t blame you,” Jerry assured her, and 
then he laughed again. “ Anyway, I gave you 






“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 173 


the idea when I said perhaps girls went about 
rescuing princes in distress in these days of 
equality.” 

“You didn’t give me the idea at all,” she 
denied, hotly. “ I thought of it myself! I 
had already made up my mind not to give you 
up to the keepers after all you’d done for Willy. 
And I was just howling inside when you said 
that about my having adventures. Now you’ve 
spoiled a perfectly good adventure! ” 

“ Oh, I hope I haven’t! I can see much 
greater possibilities than if I had really been a 
lunatic.” She dimpled suddenly, and he no¬ 
ticed it. “You see, so do you. Anyway, I 
appreciate your realizing that I was harmless 
— lunatic or not. You’re a true knight of the 
road, and recognize the hail-fellow camaraderie 
of the open highway, which is quite different 
from the hail-fellow of the town and city street 
loafer. Too bad life can’t all be like that — 
free and easy and clean. — To prove further 
that I am to the best of my knowledge and be¬ 
lief reasonably sane, I refer you to Dean 
Graves of Clayton College. No, on second 
thought, I guess I’d better not. Unfortu¬ 
nately he suspects me of taking a skeleton to 



174 


JUNE’S QUEST 

study hall one evening — one besides my own, I 
mean. It wasn’t my fault that the lights failed 
that night, but I’ll admit that I did take ad¬ 
vantage of it and I’ll never forget my room¬ 
mate’s face when he saw that skeleton sitting 
across the table from him.” 

“ All of which goes to prove, June,” said 
Paul, wiping his eyes, “ that all lunatics are not 
in padded cells.” 

Jerry sprang up. “ Now let’s try the fair 
Maryannelizabeth again. My dear Mary- 
annelizabeth, how well you’re looking! You 
have that slender silhouette. I wish I could 
reduce! My dear, I eat hardly anything — be- 
. tween meals. I do envy you your straight 
lines. What a becoming bonnet you are wear¬ 
ing! ” He peered into the engine as he talked. 
“ What a beautiful complexion. I have a 
toilet soap guaranteed to keep the hands soft 
and white and to preserve that girlish com¬ 
plexion. But I see you do not need it. Just a 
dash of stove polish here and there and — my 
dear! ” 

Paul tinkered with the starter and Mary¬ 
annelizabeth began to purr. Paul and Jerry 
looked at each other. Paul looked surprised 




“MIDSUMMER MADNESS” 175 


but Jerry looked simply dumfounded, and, for 
once, speechless. 

“ What did you do to it? ” asked Paul. 

“ Absolutely nothing. I only looked at it.’* 
“ And talked at it. What a thing it is to 
have the gift of the gab! ” 

Willy cocked an ear and listened to the rac¬ 
ing engine. “ Wuff, wuff! ” he cried joyfully, 
and sprang to the front seat. Only June re¬ 
mained unmoved. Jerry had done it. Cer¬ 
tainly. Why not ? 

“ Well, that settles it, Jerry,” said Paul. 
“ Pile in. Willy has given you his paw and 
heart, and Maryannelizabeth has given you her 
engine and wheel. Want to drive, June? 
I’ll sit in the back and hold the soap samples. 
— Don’t let Willy lick your chin! ” 

“ That’s all right. It’s Gilliams’ best — 
comes in both cream and soap — guaranteed 
not to hurt the tenderest skin. — Like the flavor 
of my shaving cream, pup? Ha! Another 
talking point in favor of Gilliams’! Pleasing 
to the taste! ” 




CHAPTER XIII 


A QUIET WEEK-END 

“ Do we try to make Shirley this evening, 
Dad? ” June called back over her shoulder. 

Paul looked at his watch. “ We’ll have to, 
June. We can stop for something to eat, 
though, if you’re hungry, and then push on. 
Mail is waiting for us at the Mountain House, 
and we’re a few days behind schedule. I’d 
planned to stay over the week-end. How 
about it, June? Would you like to be under 
a roof for a change? ” 

“ M-mm,” said June, doubtfully. “Of 
course we had to pick a hot one, didn’t we? ” 

“ How about you, Jerry? Would you like 
to stop over and go on with us? ” 

“ Sure would! ” The expression on Jerry’s 
face left no doubt about it. 

June said nothing, but she was glad, and she 
knew that her father knew it, too. She had 


176 


A QUIET WEEK-END 177 

been thinking of leaving Jerry with a little 
pang of regret. He was so pleasant, and said 
such unexpected things, and laughed at her 
drolleries with such appreciative heartiness, and 
listened to her comments with such flattering 
attention, that she knew she would miss him 
when their ways separated. She hoped they 
would have time to become good friends before 
they did have to part. 

Jerry would stay a while longer, and there 
would be mail when they got to Shirley — Mail, 
and clean, fresh sheets, and a chance to dress up 
in girls’ clothes for a little while. Her heart 
sang a little song of happiness as they went 
along. 

Jerry had a road map, and he spread it out 
and studied it thoughtfully. Then he turned 
it around. 

“ Maps are always written upside down,” he 
commented, “ and I can never remember it, for 
some reason,” 

“ I long ago gave up trying to read them,” 
said June. 44 I let Dad find out where we are, 
and then if he’s wrong — that’s just another ad¬ 
venture. But if I tried to find the way and 
were wrong, that would be a mistake.” 



178 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ That’s feminine logic of some kind,” 
laughed Paul. 

Jerry frowned over the map. “ That last 
town we passed was Whiteville.” 

“ What town? ” asked June. 44 I don’t re¬ 
member passing any town.” 

44 Three houses and a store and a garage, and 
a sign saying 4 Whiteville.’ You blinked just 
then and missed it. Ah, here it is. And here 
is Shirley. At the rate we’re going we ought 
to reach there about eight o’clock to-night. 
Shall we take a chance on the dining-room being 
open? Or should we stop somewhere? ” 

“ There aren’t any places around six o’clock,” 
said June. 44 All the tea-rooms are around 
three and ten.” 

44 And they’re all named 4 Lindy Lunches ’, 
because of the flies.” 

44 There used to be a 4 Chatterbox ’ at school 
that made a specialty of tongue sandwiches,” 
said June, solemnly. 

Jerry passed the map back to Paul. 44 Mind 
looking at it, Mr. Severne? If you make a 
mistake, it’s an adventure, and if Miss Severne 
is wrong, it’s a mistake, but if I should be wrong 
it would be a catastrophic, cataclysmic calam- 


A QUIET WEEK-END 179 

ity, for I might get chucked out of the party.” 

Paul studied it a moment. “ Right! Keep 
straight on, June. Through Ashonomink to 
Shirley.” 

Jerry began to sing, softly: 

44 I’ll be roamink 
In the gloamink 
In the town of Ashonomink, 

In the town of Ashonomink, 

Far Away! ” 

June laughed, and Willy licked Jerry’s chin. 

They decided to take a chance on the Moun¬ 
tain House dining-room, although Willy 
watched the lengthening shadows with alarm, 
and whimpered once or twice. 

“ Poor Willy,” said June, “ lie’s hungry, 
so he is.” 

“ Too bad! ” said Jerry. “ He’s licked all 
the shaving cream off my chin. It tasted good, 
but it wasn’t very sustaining was it, pup? ” 

It was half-past seven when they arrived at 
the outskirts of the town, and June was really 
sorry, for the last five miles had been through 
wonderful scenery where the river cut through 
high mountains and the road followed it, wind- 


180 JUNE’S QUEST 

ing along and opening up new vistas at every 
curve. 

“ I do love mountains,” sighed June, steal¬ 
ing a split second from the road to glance at 
the skyline where the hills lay like folds of 
georgette, from misty blue to black against the 
sunset. 

“ Watch yourself, June,” cautioned Paul. 
“ These curves need careful driving.” 

“ I’d offer to take the wheel,” said Jerry, 
“ but we’re just about there. There’s a hot-dog 
stand by the waterfall. — Funny how beauty 
spots are added to, in some folks’ opinions, by 
having refreshment stands and soft-drink 
signs scattered about. I remember how 
shocked I was to find Walden Pond turned 
into a public bathing-beach. Wonder what 
Thoreau would say if he could come back to 
see it? Perhaps he does haunt the spot on 
moonlight nights. I know several places I’d 
be tempted to haunt if some one exploited them 
that way.” 

“ Just at present I can sympathize with the 
people who see beauty in hot dogs,” said June. 
“ That sunset reminds me of a dish of rasp¬ 
berries, with whipped cream — doesn’t that big 


A QUIET WEEK-END 181 

cloud look like a spoonful of sweet, fluffy 
whipped cream? And there’s a daisy that 
looks just like a fried egg.” 

“June,” said Paul, “for goodness’ sake 
watch the road, or we’ll all look like hamburger 
steak.” 

“Wuf!” said Willy. They were talking 
about food at last! 

And then, suddenly there they were, with the 
Mountain House built against the side of a 
mountain right before them. 

June could hardly wait until the room-clerk 
gave her her key. She wanted to get dressed 
in her fluffiest dress — because Paul always 
like to see her dressed up. 

She was the last to come down, and she was 
more than repaid for her pains by the way 
both Paul and Jerry stared at her. Paul pre¬ 
tended not to know her, and Jerry really didn’t. 

“ Mail for you,” said Paul, putting a regu¬ 
lar sheaf of letters before her on the table, as 
they sat down to dinner. 

June took them with a little squeal. “You 
order, Dad! I don’t care what! Oh, here’s 
one from Di — and one from Cathie — and 
one from Mary and — ” she looked at Paul, 





182 


JUNE’S QUEST 

mischievously, “ one from the football fan! 
And — I don’t know whom this is from. Well, 
I declare! It’s from Joyce. — She wants to be 
remembered to my stunning-looking, cele¬ 
brated father.” She wrinkled her nose at Paul 
impishly. “ She must mean you, Dad, for I 
don’t have two fathers.” 

“ Poor ‘ orphant ’,” laughed Jerry. “ Most 
of us have four.” 

~ Four? ” 

“ Sure. Didn’t you ever hear of fore¬ 
fathers? ” And even the waitress laughed at 
the old joke. 

Although June asked to be excused while 
she read her mail, it was not necessary, for she 
read parts of her letters with little gurgles of 
delight. She even read the more romantic 
parts of Cathie’s, for any one could tell that 
Cathie’s streak of romance was as wide as her 
own plump self, and as Celtic and irresponsible 
as the whole Irish race, and was fully capable 
of embracing a dozen Prince Charmings at 
once. There was nothing confidential about 
Cathie’s most serious “ crushes.” 

June finished the last crumb of her pie and 
sighed. 




A QUIET WEEK-END 183 

“ I ate more than you did,” challenged Jerry. 

“ Well, I should hope so. Look how far it 
had to go! ” 

Jerry took out his cigarette case, hesitated, 
and looked at Paul. Paul’s eyes twinkled, but 
his face was inscrutable. One never knew 
these days. “ Have a cigarette, June? ” 

“ Thanks. I don’t smoke.” 

“ I’m glad.” 

Her amber eyes met his squarely. “ I 
thought boys liked girls who smoked — called 
them 4 pally ’ and ‘ good sports ’.” 

“ Perhaps some do. But somehow — Dad 
always taught me to regard women as some¬ 
thing finer than we blundering men. He is a 
gentleman of the old school — Southern train¬ 
ing and all that, you know. Mother is just like 
a Dresden shepherdess, dainty and sweet. She 
uses a perfume that Dad has made to order in 
Prance. It is her one extravagance. My 
Aunt Edith always uses violet sachet and per¬ 
fume, and I can remember when I was a little 
chap, I used to like to bury my nose in her 
silk shoulders when she kissed me. She used 
to laugh, and wondered why I did it. Violets 
have always meant Aunt Edith to me ever since. 





184 


JUNE’S QUEST 

And lavender — I only have to go through a 
store where it is on sale, or catch a whiff of it 
from a street vendor’s basket, and I am back 
in my grandmother’s house with its colonial 
furniture, high-posted beds, lavender-scented 
sheets. I can even see the whitewashed fence 
and the hollyhocks, and the sundial in the old- 
fashioned garden. So, when I think of girls, 
who should be sweet as roses, perfuming their 
clothes and their breaths with tobacco it makes 
me feel sad, somehow. Guess I’m old-fash¬ 
ioned or something.” 

He broke off with a laugh. Paul’s eyes 
were seeing into the distance, and there was a 
sad droop to his lips. Jerry could not know 
that down the years had come a whiff of mi¬ 
gnonette. 

In a second he was himself again, even be¬ 
fore Jerry had had time to wonder at the sus¬ 
picion of tears in June’s eyes. 

“ Did I put my foot in it? ” he whispered as 
they went out to the veranda together. “ Your 
father seemed — ” 

“ There’s a great tragedy in Dad’s life, 
Jerry. He doesn’t speak of it even to me — 
so — I’d rather lied tell you — ” 





A QUIET WEEK-END 185 


“ Oh, sure. — So that’s why they call him 
4 The violinist with the broken heart ’ ? ” 

44 Yes. It’s why we’re here, too — the quest 
I told you about. — Let’s get him to go for a 
walk along the river.” 

The next morning dawned bright and sunny. 
June awoke early, and lay luxuriating in the 
soft bed, and missing the lapping of the lake 
water which, although it had greeted her but 
two mornings, had nevertheless made itself a 
part of her thoughts. 

It was to be a quiet week-end. June rose 
and dressed leisurely in her non-crushable 
white georgette. She pinned a spray of arti¬ 
ficial apple-blossoms on her shoulder and shook 
out her white silk hat which had rolled up com¬ 
fortably in a corner of her suitcase. With her 
pair of white canvas pumps and her one pair 
of white silk stockings, she looked like a dif¬ 
ferent being from the girl who had alighted 
from the car the night before. As an after¬ 
thought, she came back to her suitcase and rum¬ 
maged around in it, finally finding a tiny phial. 
Just a touch with the cork of it, for the essence 
was strong, and a delicate scent of orange blos¬ 
soms floated around her. A drop of it clung 



186 


JUNE’S QUEST 

to her fingers as she replaced the cork, and she 
touched it to her curving upper lip. 

“ Not that he’ll ever know,” she thought, 
then laughed. “ I’m ashamed of you,” she 
scolded herself, as a dash of color shone in her 
cheeks. “ You’re worse than Cathie! ” 

The first part of the day’s program went off 
without hitch. The three of them went to 
church, and then took a short walk. The 
afternoon was to be spent in taking a long and 
famous walk through the mountains, but at 
noon the sky became very much overcast, and 
they decided to stick close to the hotel veranda. 
They watched the storm come up like opposing 
armies in battle array. Then the whole world 
was bathed in a yellow glow, as it had been the 
night June and Paul had taken refuge in the 
“ Haunted House.” Without further warning 
the full fury of the storm was upon them. 
They pushed their chairs back against the 
house, and finally took refuge in the living- 
room, laughing at their retreat. 

June watched the rain descending in sheets, 
and sighed. “ It reminds me of Niagara,” she 
said, “ viewed from the bottom. I think I’ll 
go upstairs and write some letters.” 


A QUIET WEEK-END 187 

She was in the midst of her first letter when 
her father called her. “ June! Come on down 
if you want to see something funny. You’ll 
want to put this into your letters.” 

June hastily joined him and they went down 
the stairs and looked over the banisters. The 
living-room and the office were both flooded. 
The water was lapping the second step. It 
swirled about in little whirlpools, and in the 
midst of it the proprietor and the room-clerk 
were paddling about rescuing the perishable 
things, coming back with the news that the 
dining-room was flooded, too, and the rain had 
come down the chimney and put the fire out 
and ruined the chicken dinner which was the 
tradition of the house for Sunday night. That 
was calamity indeed. 

“ It’s a cloudburst,” the room-clerk in¬ 
formed them, “ and of course we, being right 
on the side of the mountain, are getting it on 
three sides besides what is falling on us from 
the skies.” 

A crash of thunder and a brilliant flash of 
lightning startled them. June held her breath 
for a second, then laughed a little shakily. 

“ That hit somewhere near,” said the room- 


188 JUNE’S QUEST 

clerk. “ However, it’s not likely to start a 
forest-fire in a deluge like this.” 

Jerry splashed out in a bathing suit and 
waved to them genially. “ It struck behind us 
a piece — up the hill.” 

“ Bet they’re scared in the Bidge House,” 
grinned the clerk. Then his grin faded. The 
fire siren blew, striking a sudden chill to 
their hearts. Jerry plunged out on the rain¬ 
swept porch and peered through the curtain of 
rain. 

The little fire engine was out in a jiffy and 
began to climb the hill, the engine puffing 
pluckily. The water was above the hubs of 
the wheels and spurted out in crested waves as 
it ploughed through. But right in front of the 
Mountain House where three rivers met, the 
water was deeper. The engine coughed, 
sputtered and died. 

One of the firemen called something to Jerry 
and Jerry rushed into the living-room. 4 ‘ Bring 
buckets,” he called to the room-clerk. “ The 
fire engine can’t make the grade, and it’s the 
Ridge House.” 

In an instant every man in the house was 
out with a bucket. June dashed upstairs and 



A QUIET WEEK-END 189 

looked out of a fourth-story window. From 
there she had a splendid view of the road and the 
men climbing it, and the Ridge House. It 
was not a spectacular fire, of course, and there 
was nothing to see, so after a time she came 
down and sat on the stairs to wait for the 
men to come back. 

Alarming things happened. The thunder 
and lightning and the loud roar of the rain ter¬ 
rorized her. A little bride whose new husband 
had joined the bucket brigade began to cry, 
but she laughed instead when June pointed out 
how foolish it was to add more water when there 
was already a superabundance. They became 
quite good friends there on the steps. They 
hung on to each other’s hands when crashes told 
of a falling tree back in the woods. And they 
tried to reassure each other when a loud, 
muffled roar suddenly sounded toward the 
river. But the telephone was cut off, and they 
could only wait until some one who had braved 
the storm should come back to tell them what 
the strange sounds meant. The unearthly 
hooting of a train whistle added itself to the 
din of the elements. It was nightmarish, sit¬ 
ting there through the long afternoon hours. 


190 


JUNE’S QUEST 

Some of the women suggested donning bath¬ 
ing suits and sweeping the water out of the 
house. That was a practical plan now that 
the rain had abated, so they fell to with a will. 

“ There’ll be no dinner for yez,” the cook 
announced, just as they were ready for it. 
44 Only crackers what I had on me top shelf. 
Even the milk’s went sour from the thunder. 
Ye can’t even have preserves unless ye want to 
dive for them, the cellar’s that full of water. I 
been workin’ here seven years, an’ I never seen 
nothin’ like this.” 

They were disappointed, but they accepted 
it with nothing like the groan with which the 
men greeted it when they returned. One of 
them undertook to dive for preserves, and was 
a hero. 

44 Scared?” asked Paul, as they munched 
crackers and drank lemonade. 44 We thought 
about you.” 

44 A little,” confessed June. 44 There were 
so many strange noises. Trees were breaking, 
I suppose.” 

44 Worse than that,” said one of the men. 
44 A tremendous boulder, loosened by the rush 
of water along the river drive, let go and made 


A QUIET WEEK-END 191 

a young avalanche down into the valley across 
the train tracks — dropped about two tons of 
earth and rock and a few full-grown trees right 
in front of the Eastern Express. If she had 
been on time it would have landed squarely on 
top of her, but she was reported ten minutes 
late at Branchtown. The station agent tried 
to wire back to hold her, but the wires had gone. 
So he and the baggage agent ran back with 
red lanterns and flags and stopped her just 
around the bend. That sure was a close call. 
The wrecking crew has come to clear up the 
debris, and the Eastern Express passengers 
are sent around to the Junction to meet an¬ 
other train. It’s a mess.” 

June glanced up and saw the little bride 
oblivious to everything except her big young 
husband, and chuckled. She must tell Cathie 
about that. Thought of Cathie reminded her 
of her unfinished letters, and since Paul and 
Jerry were going to help the wrecking crew 
clear the mess off the track, she went up to her 
room, and settling herself comfortably on her 
bed, she chose a fresh sheet of paper and began. 

“Dear Cathie: 

4 4 We have spent a quiet week-end — ” 




CHAPTER XIV 


“ ROMANCE RIDES THE SHADY WAY ” 

It was a glorious morning. June, standing 
on the hotel porch, wished they need not go on 
again. The wavy blue line of mountains be¬ 
fore her, and the dark recesses of the pine woods 
behind her, w T ere too alluring to leave. She 
wanted to walk far, far away through the fields 
where enormous heads of Queen Anne’s Lace 
and great black-eyed Susans grew, and where 
the quail called the elfin Bob White, to the 
friendly hills. She wanted to prowl in the pine 
forest, slipping on the fallen needles, listening 
to the voice of the wind above her head, and 
the music of a hidden waterfall, and discover¬ 
ing with the thrill such a discovery always 
brought her, the frail, ghostly flowers of the 
Indian Pipe. To sit with her back against a 
tree — to look down into a misty valley — 

“ ’Lo, June! ” It was Jerry. He dropped 


192 




“ ROMANCE RIDES” 193 

to a rocker beside her. 44 All ready for the 
long trek again, I see.” 

She nodded. “ I wish we didn’t have to go 
right away.” 

44 1 could use a few days among the summer 
cottages back in the hills,” he hinted. 44 So 
don’t feel that you have to go on my account.” 

44 I wonder if Dad would stay? ” breathed 
June, wistfully. 

44 I guess he’s eager to go,” said Jerry. 44 He 
told me last night about your mother, and I 
can imagine how he feels. Pretty tough, isn’t 
it ? But what makes him feel that your mother 
is still alive? Has he any proof? ” 

44 No. He just feels it, somehow.” 

44 Yes, I imagine you could feel that way 
about some one you loved very deeply — who 
was closely bound to you in thought and spirit. 
I’ve heard that mothers felt that way about their 
sons in the war. Do you remember her at all? ” 

44 No. I was only two, you know.” 

44 Yes. Well — . Here he comes.” 

44 Hello, Dad. Any more mail? ” 

44 What? ” laughed Paul. 44 Mail? After 
all you had Saturday? You little pig! Just 
a telegram for me.” 


194 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ A telegram— ? ” with a sharp intake of 
breath. 

He laughed again as he sat down on the 
porch railing and swung one foot. “ Tele¬ 
grams are nothing in my young life, June.” 

He slit the flap of the yellow envelope with 
his penknife, clasped the knife and returned 
it to his pocket, and then read the few words 
the flimsy contained. His foot stopped swing¬ 
ing, and a thoughtful expression came over 
his face. He put the slip back into the envel¬ 
ope and looked toward the hills. Presently 
he turned back to June, who was watching him 
anxiously. 

“ A mysterious teacher of singing has been 
located in Baltimore,” he said, slowly. “ I 
must go at once, by train. And even so, I may 
be too late. The telegram was delayed because 
of the broken wires yesterday. I don’t know 
what to do about you, June. I can’t take you 
with me because I’ve got to make fast time — 
faster than I’d want you to travel. And yet 
— I hate to leave you alone — ” 

“ Oh, pshaw, Dad! Mrs. Watson will look 
after me, and I can take Willy when I venture 
abroad.” 



“ROMANCE RIDES” 195 

“June, you’re a genius. I’ll speak to the 
proprietor’s wife right away.” 

Jerry looked up as Paul was about to pass 
him. “ Would you feel better if I arranged 
to go away until your return? ” 

“ And leave me all by myself? ” protested 
June. 

“ No,” said Paul, with a twinkle. “ I’d feel 
much safer if I knew she wasn’t learning to 
smoke and flirt by spending her evenings with 
some of these girls at the hotel.” 

June went in with him and offered to help 
him pack so that he could make the next train. 
He would not even wait for breakfast. It was 
some time later when they both came out — 
Paul with a small over-night bag. She walked 
with him to the foot of the hill, then she walked 
back slowly. She had made, it seemed, endless 
promises to be careful about speaking to 
strangers, especially men — even those at the 
hotel, and not to let any girl or man tell her it 
was sporting to do something she felt she ought 
not to do, and when in doubt to go to Mrs. Wat¬ 
son, the proprietor’s wife. June’s head fairly 
swam with the do’s and don’t’s he had given 
her. 



196 


JUNE'S QUEST 

“ Life is very complex,” she sighed, sitting 
down beside Jerry and watching his pencil 
traveling swiftly over a sheet of his sales-book. 
“ Did you sell some soap already, Jerry? ” 

He gave a final twirl to a letter. “ No. 
This is the poem I was spouting this afternoon. 
Want to hear it? ” 

“ Yes!” 

He struck an attitude and began in a sepul¬ 
chral voice, not at all in accord with the poem: 

“ Where the sun shines on the highway, 

Where the birds sing on the byway, 

That’s the road that will be my way, 

All the day.” 

•/ 

“ I think that’s lovely! ” cried June. 
“ Have you done any more? Is that all of it? 
What’s the title? What are you going to do 
with it? ” 

“ One at a time! Sure, I’ve written a lot, 
batting around with soap I’ve gotten into the 
habit of making up verses as I go along. I 
haven’t tried to do anything with them yet, but 
maybe some day — This hasn’t got a title yet 
and it needs more stanzas to it. It doesn’t 
sound complete, do you think? Sounds sort of 
like a fragment — a refrain or something.” 




“ ROMANCE RIDES ” 197 

“ I think it’s just lovely! ” repeated June, 
raptly. “ I wish I could do as well.” 

“ Try it,” advised Jerry, with just a tinge 
of condescension, putting away his pencil and 
paper. “ Let’s catch us some breakfast.” 

Breakfast over, and Jerry vanished around 
the nearest curve, in search, as he flippantly 
expressed it, “ of the great unwashed,” the 
day stretched before her full of possibilities, 
and barren of inspiration. She sought the lat¬ 
ter from Mrs. Watson. 

“ There are lots of nice tramps to take,” 
smiled Mrs. Watson. “ Back of us are the 
woods, as you know, with a lake and a gorgeous 
view from the top of the mountains. Away 
over there — see the splotch of red in the sun¬ 
light on that hillside away across the valley? 
That is the home of a famous singer, Madame 
Sergieff. Perhaps your father knows her? ” 

“ No, he doesn’t. But I’ve heard of her a 
lot.” 

“Well — her home is one of the show 
places. If you take a sightseeing trip this 
afternoon, the guide will tell you a little about 
it — the cost of it, and such details. Then of 
course there is the riverside walk.” 





198 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Well,” said June, “ Dad said he wouldn’t 
get back before to-morrow evening, so there 
will be two mornings and two afternoons to 
see all those things, so this morning I think I’ll 
just take Willy and walk down the road.” 

Mrs. Watson smiled. “ It’s a very interest¬ 
ing road, and you’ll enjoy it, I know! ” 

So June, with a wildly excited Willy, and a 
loaded camera, set forth seeking adventures on 
a perfectly strange road that went up and down 
hill and around curves enticingly, and hid its 
surprises well. 

The elfin Boh White was still elusive, the 
mountains folded and unfolded in different 
perspective as the road curved and twisted and 
doubled back upon itself. Willy tugged at his 
leash. The fairies had spread their pocket 
handkerchiefs of Queen Anne’s lace out to dry, 
and the Meadow Pixies were busily engaged in 
making a fairy bridal veil of gossamer, set 
with pearls, using a bending sweetbrier for a 
loom. 

Willy’s feet j)atted along, and her own feet 
fell into a marching rhythm, and she began to 
think of words to fit the time of their marching 
feet. After a while she said it aloud: 


“ROMANCE RIDES” 


199 


“ With a heigh-ho, whistle and blow! 

With a laugh and a chuckle wherever you go, 

Sure, a smile’s made of gold, 

And a jest that is told 

Is a coin of the realm wherever you go! ” 

Willy looked back at her and wagged his 
tail, and cocked one ear. 

“ It sounds like a fragment of something,” 
she said, judicially. “ I must think of some 
more to it.” 

Still as they went along she found herself 
repeating the same words over and over. 
Then, suddenly she stopped still. A little 
stream ran laughing and singing along by the 
road, and suddenly the road swept around a 
curve, and there lay a cluster of houses — a 
church, a garage, a general store, and a few 
cottages, and a little farther on, where the 
stream ran under the road to ripple on the other 
side, there was a little bridge, and beside it were 
two twisted willows. 

The gypsy’s foretold bridge and willows! 
June’s heart leaped. The road that lay golden 
and gray in the sunlight and shade was a road 
to romance, a veritable enchanted road down 
which could ride knights and fair ladies. She 



200 


JUNE’S QUEST 

paused on the bridge and imagined a knight was 
coming just around the curve — or perhaps — 

With a joyful bark Willy snapped the leash 
out of her lax hand and sped off across the 
fields, a big, fluffy black animal before him in 
whole-hearted flight. For just a second June 
hesitated, then she set off in hot pursuit. The 
dragging leash was dangerous. Willy could 
hang himself on a fence or even on a shrub — 
or he could get caught and never get himself 
free. And the animal he was pursuing — June 
had seen just a glimpse of it when it sprang 
down from the tree — just enough to know that 
it was black (perhaps black and white) and had 
a bushy tail. Skunks were black and white with 
bushy tails, and if Willy caught a skunk they 
couldn’t travel with him. Paul had said so! 
She just had to catch Willy! 

She knew from experience that Willy would 
not stop at the sound of his name, so she tried 
to head him off. But Willy could run very 
fast! She was breathless before she had gone 
half way across the field, and the field was 
bumpy and where it wasn’t bumpy there were 
hollows into which she stumbled. It was a wild 
chase. The black animal swerved, so did 




“ROMANCE RIDES” 


201 


Willy, so did June. All three plunged through 
a grove of trees and emerged on the windward 
side of a rose garden. The black animal sailed 
over a clipped hedge. Willy hunted for a hole, 
squeezed through, and June jumped the hedge 
and gained a few precious feet on Willy. But 
Willy was making up for lost time. The 
black animal sailed over a sundial. Willy ran 
around it, and June ran around it the other 
way, missing Willy’s leash by inches and al¬ 
most losing her balance in her frantic grab for 
it. Through a rose-covered arbor they ran, 
across a back porch, the black animal knocking 
down a dishpan in his flight, and Willy falling 
over it and sending it crashing tinnily down 
three stone steps — around the house, and 
straight through an open side door. The 
black animal first, then Willy. June stopped, 
horrified. 

Willy was chasing a skunk into a perfectly 
strange house. Oh, what could she do? Oh, 
wasn’t Willy a mess! 

A startled exclamation in a guttural voice, 
and a big feminine figure appeared in the 
shadowy interior beyond the door. It was a 
squarely built figure, clad, as to the upper por- 



202 


JUNE'S QUEST 

tion, in a peasant blouse of white voile, cross- 
stitched in bright red and yellow and blue, and 
as to the lower part, in a tremendous red skirt, 
with a little black apron over it. She stood 
squarely in the path of the rushing Willy. He 
never stopped but plunged through the red 
skirt, was enveloped, emerged at the other side 
and tore along the hall, his toenails clicking 
against the polished wood. 

“ I’m sorry,” gasped June. “ But my dog 
is chasing a skunk through your house! ” 

The figure came closer and June shrank 
back. It was a rather formidable advance — 
relentless, smothering. Her face was square 
and high in the cheek bones, and her eyes on 
either side of her flat nose were gray and hard. 
She gave an impression of inhuman stolidity 
and immovability. 

“ My — my dog — ” stammered June. 

Then the woman began to speak. Her voice 
rose shrilly and the words tumbled over them¬ 
selves. June didn’t know what the woman was 
saying, but she was certainly using a lot of 
words, all of them sounding different, and she 
gesticulated with hands and arms and head, 
and the billowing of her ample skirt showed that 




“ROMANCE RIDES” 203 

she gesticulated with, apparently, her whole 
body. 

“ What on earth,” came another voice, 
“ what on earth is happening? ” 

The woman turned. Another woman had 
come into the hall — a slender, graceful slip of 
a woman, with a face like ivory, and hair like 
spun silver, and a voice like silver bells muffled 
in velvet. 

The big woman began again, heaving and 
billowing and using more words. 

“Sonia!” The sweet voice was still low, 
but it carried authority. Although June had 
no way of knowing, she was sure that she 
stopped in the exact middle of a word, certainly 
she stopped in the middle of a gesture and in a 
mid-billow. As a sort of anti-climax, she shut 
her mouth slowly. 

“ I’m sorry,” faltered June, almost in 
tears. “ But Willy has chased a skunk into 
your house.” 

“ Ah,” said the big woman, triumphantly, 
producing June, as it were, red-handed. “ A 
skonnik. A skonnik, ah ? ” 

There was indeed a commotion inside the 
house. The lady said a few words to the big 



204 


JUNE’S QUEST 

woman, who gathered her skirts around her 
and fled precipitately in the direction away from 
the “ skonnik.” 

“ Come and let us rescue Willy,” she said 
to June. “ I do not think it is a skunk, really. 
I think it is Mentu-Hotep.” 

“ Meant to what? ” asked June. 

“ Look!” 

They stopped in the doorway of a room to 
the left of the hall. A big black animal with 
a bushy tail was perched on top of a bookcase, 
and Willy was frantically trying to reach it, 
jumping up and down hard. Once the small 
rug on which he stood slid under his feet and 
carried him away a little piece. But he re¬ 
turned to the chase with added gusto, perhaps 
feeling in his canine mind that the animal had 
pushed him. 

When June took a calm and unhurried look 
at the creature it resolved itself into a gigantic 
black Persian cat, with topaz eyes and white 
whiskers. As Willy jumped up, the cat put 
out a lazy paw and patted him on the nose. 
Willy nearly turned himself inside out with 
fury at the insidt. 

The silver-haired lady laughed. She lifted 


“ ROMANCE RIDES ” 205 

the great cat from the bookcase, and rested her 
pointed chin in the soft fur. 

“ My cat, named after an old Egyptian 
king, Mentu-Hotep.” 

Willy jumped up and down like a toy dog 
on springs. The lady laughed again. When 
she laughed it was like listening to a fountain 
— a fountain in an enchanted garden where the 
Princess walked at dusk. And her eyes were 
deep blue, like pieces of royal blue velvet — 
if you can imagine velvet with twinkles in it — 
and shaded by long black lashes. Her eye¬ 
brows were black, too, so that she seemed like 
a young girl making up with powdered hair 
for a masquerade. 

“ Oh, I’m sorry Willy was so bad,” said 
June, contritely. “ He got away from me! ” 

“ Poor child,” said the lady, softly. “ You 
are terribly warm and tired. You must be. 
Sit down, and I shall sing to you.” 

And June suddenly realized who the lady 
Olga Sergieff herself! 


was. 




CHAPTER XV 


TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 

“ But that is too much,” said June. “ First 
I intrude, Madame, and then — ” 

Madame made an airy gesture with her deli¬ 
cate hands. “ Poof! I want you to stay! Or 
do you not like music? Perhaps you do not 
wish that I should bore you — No?” 

“Oh, I’d love it!” protested June, and 
Madame laughed again. 

“ Come then and bring Willy.” 

Holding Mentu-Hotep on one arm she led 
the way to an adjoining room where there was 
a grand piano, deep, comfortable chairs, and 
a canary in a cage in the window. 

Willy sniffed, curiously and audibly. Then 
he lay down on a rug and put his nose between 
his paws. Madame sat down on the piano 
bench and Mentu-Hotep sat down beside her. 
He looked once at Willy, yawned insultingly, 
and began to wash his face. 

Madame swung around. “ You have the 


206 



TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 207 

advantage of me — I do not know your name, 
Amber Girl.” 

“ Oh, June — June Severne.” 

“ June? I used to know a girl named June 
— I think.” The blue eyes looked puzzled. 
“June — June — Severne — Severne is 
familiar, too.” 

“ You are thinking of my father, perhaps. 
He is Paul Severne, the violinist.” 

“ Oh, yes! I have heard of him, but I do 
not know him — No. Is your mother’s name 
June?” 

“ No. Mother’s name was Olive.” 

“ Was? Ah, she is not any more? That is 
tragic! That is why they call your father — 
the violinist with the heartbreak? Yes? Ah, 
I too have lost — ” The blue eyes widened 
with a look of pain for a moment, then she 
turned to the piano and began to play. 

June sat enthralled. Madame sang one 
song after another — gypsy songs, Russian 
folk songs, some sad, others rollicking. She 
sang a group of love songs of different nation¬ 
alities— Irish, French, Italian. She sang a 
group of lullabies, and the canary crooned to 
itself in the cage. 










208 JUNE’S QUEST 

Somewhere a clock struck. Madame turned. 
Willy stirred restlessly. June looked up, her 
eyes cloudy with dreams, like one interrupted 
while reading. 

“ You are an appreciative listener,” said 
Madame. “ I like you much. You stay to 
lunch with me — yes? ” 

“ Oh, I should go back,” said June, springing 
up. “ Really. It is terrible to stay like 
this — ” 

“ Where is your home? ” 

“ We’re at the Mountain House, Dad and I 
— Dad is away for a day or two on — on 
business.” 

“ And you would lunch alone in a hotel? 
Na, na, cherie. Hotels are nice things to keep 
away from. And hotel cooking — Faugh! 
Wait until you taste my Sonia’s Russian cook¬ 
ing. Ah, then you will be glad you stayed. 
Sonia will be displeased if you run away now. 
We must not displease Sonia! She might leave 
me, and what would I do without my Sonia? ” 

So June laughingly gave in, and she and 
Willy and Madame and Mentu-Hotep went to 
lunch together in the yellow dining-room. 
While they ate, June told Madame of the 




TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 209 

summer’s adventures, and Madame laughed 
joyously, especially at the story of the finding 
of Willy and the finding of the lyric lunatic. 
But at the prophecy of the gypsy she looked at 
June through a mist of tears. 

“ Does a home mean so much to you, Girl 
of the Amber Eyes? Four walls and covering 
from the weather — ” She looked about her 
and sighed. “ One can have all those and still 
not be happy.” 

“ I should want other things, too, which make 
a house into a home, Madame,” thinking that 
perhaps the other’s Russian mind had confused 
the two. “ I should want love — friends — a 
warm hearth — ” She looked at Madame. 
“Does Russia have homes?” 

The sad blue eyes lifted. “ Russia? No. 
Not like that. Not as you mean. Do not 
let us talk of homes. Tell me more about the 
lunatic who recited poetry! ” 

So June told, and she continued the story of 
her adventures up to the time Willy began to 
chase the “ skunk.” And the laughter came 
back to the velvet-blue eyes, and she laughed 
again with the ripple from the enchanted 
gardens. 



210 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ You must bring him to see me,” she cried, 
clapping her hands. “ To-night! But yes! 
I will not take no! Soon you will be gone and 
I may have to go miles to see you again! 
Please! It is not often Olga Sergieff says 
please. She says 4 do so ’ and it is done. But 
because she loves you, little girl of the amber 
eyes, she says 4 please ’.” 

“ If — if he will,” said June. 

“That is better! To-night! — You must 
eat a lot of these cookies! Sonia makes them so 
splendidly. They are Russian cookies. You 
like them? ” 

Sonia bustled about serving them, and more 
than once when Madame laughed, June caught 
an expression in the gray eyes of the Russian 
woman, an expression of joy and love, and 
when they turned toward June they were no 
longer hostile, but warm and friendly and 
kind. 

Madame insisted that June should stay well 
into the afternoon, and then she promised to 
call at the hotel for the two of them that 
evening. 

June left the door and walked through the 
rose garden, keeping tight hold of Willy’s 



TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 211 


leash this time. Sonia intercepted her at the 
arbor. 

“ Miss — ” The servant’s voice was harsher 
in tone and her English was not as perfect as 
Madame’s. “ Miss — I thank you — Ma¬ 
dame, she is sad — so verree sad — But she 
laugh to-day.” She caught June’s hand and 
kissed it impulsively. “ Goo’-by, Miss.” 

June met Jerry on the way. He looked re¬ 
lieved when he saw her, and then frowned. 

“ Where in the world have you been? ” he 
demanded. “ When you didn’t come back for 
lunch Mrs. Watson looked at me as if she 
thought I had murdered you and thrown your 
body in the well! ” 

“ Oh, Jerry, I’ve been — ” 

“ I don’t want to know where you’ve been,” 
said Jerry, inconsistently. “ You were very 
selfish and thoughtless to go off like that for so 
long! ” 

“ Oh,” said June, in a small voice. She 
walked along beside him, half hurt and half 
angry. Then her lips twitched. “ Jerry — ” 
Jerry strode on, with eyes fixed on a point 
several feet ahead of them. 

They reached the bridge and the willows. 








212 


JUNE’S QUEST 

The road looked even more like a gleaming path 
of romance under the long shadows. June 
looked back wistfully. 

“ Look, Willy,” she said, softly, “ there is 
where the skunk was! Wouldn’t Jerry enjoy 
hearing about that? ” Jerry kept on looking 
straight ahead. If anything his back became 
a little stiffer. “ When he gets over being 
mad,” she confided to Willy, “ we’ll tell him 
about Madame Sergieff and her invitation to 
both of us.” 

He looked at her sharply and incredulously. 
She caught his eye before he could turn his head 
away. He flung out both hands in a gesture of 
surrender. “All right, all right! A skunk 
and Madame Sergieff — What wild thing have 
you been doing now? ” 

“ It wasn’t i. it was Willy! You see it 
was like this. Willy found a skunk up a 
tree — ” 

The recital lasted all the way to the hotel. 

“ You’ll be the death of me yet,” he gasped 
when the tale was told. “ Who but you and 
Willy would chase a skunk and catch a Prima 
Donna? I ask you! ” 

“ Do you suppose — ” 


said June, breath- 




TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 213 

lessly, “ do you suppose she could be an exiled 
duchess or something? ” 

“ Perhaps,” nodded Jerry. “ You never 
can tell, these days.” 

The possibility gave them food for thought 
and conjecture right up to the time Madame’s 
car came for them. And at the last moment a 
telegram arrived for June, which threw her 
into a panic until Jerry sensibly suggested that 
she should open it. It was from her father, 
saying that the music teacher had left town and 
would be back on Thursday. He would stay 
and wait for her, and arrive at the Mountain 
House again late Friday night. 

“ It’s rather fun,” said June, as the chauffeur 
helped her into Madame’s luxurious car. “ Of 
course I wish Dad were here to meet Madame, 
but I’m glad I can stay a while. What are 
you going to do? ” 

“ Don’t know yet. I guess there are enough 
soapless people among the cottages to make it 
worth while to stay a while longer. To-day 
was the best day I’ve had this summer. That’s 
why I knocked off early and had my brain¬ 
storm when I found Mrs. Watson scared pink 
about you.” 


214 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“I’m really sorry.” She sank back into the 
cushions and sighed. “ Isn’t this heavenly? ” 
Madame’s car and Maryannelizabeth were 
not in the same class, socially. They were not 
even sisters under their paint. And the chauf¬ 
feur reminded June of an automatic man of 
artistically painted tin. He seemed to be 
worked by the same mechanism as his car. 
June enjoyed him all the way to Madame’s 
house. 

Madame was waiting for them. “ And this is 
Jerree,” she said, “ the Lyric Lunatic at 
Large! ” He laughed at that. “ Ah, you did 
not bring your funny little dog! ” 

“ Oh, Willy’s such a nuisance! ” 

“You are very ungrateful,” laughed 
Madame. “You forgot that he brought you 
to me! ” She led them through the house to a 
sheltered porch where they could watch the 
moon rise over the hills. Mentu-Hotep came 
too, and jumped into June’s lap, landing like 
a ton of brick, and causing June to give an in¬ 
elegant and involuntary grunt. But once 
there, he remained quiet, and seemed to be lis¬ 
tening to the talk, purring comfortably. 

Before long Jerry was telling some of his 


TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 215 

experiences at college, including the almost dis¬ 
astrous one about the skeleton, and some of his 
adventures in selling soap. And Madame 
laughed more than once. 

Once Jerry suggested that she tell of Russia. 
Madame was silent a moment, her face hidden 
in the shadows. 

“ Pardon, Jerree,” she said, presently. 
“ Pardon if I do not, please? Let us be gay. 
Russia is — hell tome! I am not profane. I 
mean it. I suffered there — and I want to for¬ 
get it. I hate it! No — let us be gay and 
tell each other more funny stories, yes? ” 

But somehow, instead of funny stories, they 
talked seriously of Madame’s work, and June 
and Jerry told her of their own ambitions, and 
then, somehow, none of them could quite re¬ 
member afterward how it came about, they 
found themselves talking of pageants. 

Madame told them of a group of girls at a 
community house in the city, and of her efforts 
in teaching them a little of the drama and 
coaching amateur plays and concerts and 
operettas. 

“ I like it,” she said, simply. “ One girl I 
found with a remarkable voice. She is an 



216 JUNE’S QUEST 

Italian girl. She is now studying. Some day 
she will sing in opera. I like girls — but they 
sadden me. Oh, not you, Girl with the Amber 
Eyes! You make me happy! But those 
others — I look among them for — I do not 
know what — but it is not there, and I am 
sad.” 

And then gradually a plan for a pageant in 
the town came into being. The girls and men 
of the hotels — the summer guests — would be 
asked to take part, and Madame would sing. 
She would sing a group of songs while the girls 
and men would form tableaux in costume. 

“Oh, it would be so easy! Costumes — 
French, Spanish, Russian — some painted 
scenery — That is all! And you shall be a 
gypsy group! Your father shall play some 
gypsy airs and I shall sing them, and you two 
shall be lovers by the fireside! Come inside.” 
She sprang up impulsively, and led the way 
inside again. “ Wait! ” She whirled up the 
stairway, leaving June and Jerry looking at 
each other. 

“ She’s a peach! ” said Jerry, enthusiastically. 
“ Say, the hotels ought to be glad to help us. 
Look at the trade it would bring. Madame 







TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 217 

will draw people from miles around. In town 
they pay any price to hear her at her concerts! ” 
Before June could answer Madame was down 
again, holding something in her hands. It was 
a pair of earrings — dull gold carved into the 
shape of a half-opened flower, fully two inches 
across, with a yellow drop, pointed and cut 
like a prism. Madame fastened them in June’s 
ears with their tiny screws, and the points al¬ 
most touched her shoulders. 

“ Is she not a little barbarian now? ” 
Madame asked of Jerry, who was lost in 
amazement. “ They match your eyes. Wear 
them often, will you not — I mean in the eve¬ 
nings, of course. They are your stones — am¬ 
ber and topazes, just as my stones are sapphires. 
Look in the mirror. Are they not lovely? ” 

“ Oh,” breathed June. “ They make me 
different! ” 

“ I’ll say they do,” said Jerry. 

Madame laughed. “ Will not the girls envy 
you? I am giving them to you, child,” as 
June’s eyes were questioning. 

“ Oh, no,” protested June, quickly. “ I 
couldn’t think of it — really — It is too much 
— My father would not like — ” 






218 


JUNE'S QUEST 

“ Please! You are always making Olga 
Sergieff say 4 please ’ to you, Girl with the Am¬ 
ber Eyes! They are nothing. Old peasant 
jewelry — gold, yes, and native handwork, but 
they are not amber drops, nor even topazes, 
child. Just glass. Some peasant girl wore 
them when she went to the village mosque to 
the Easter service, and they lay warm on her 
neck under her furs when she went through the 
deep snow to the Christmas service — perhaps 
in Moscow or old St. Petersburg! That is all. 
Take them. I could never wear them! They 
are yours! ” 

June was puzzled. To be sure, Madame 
was giving them to her, and Madame was a 
woman who should know her own mind, even 
though she was impulsive. So she accepted 
them with as much grace as she could, rendered 
awkward by her embarrassment, privately de¬ 
ciding to ask her father’s advice, and return 
them if he said to do so. 

Madame considered it settled. She swept 
them into the music room and piled music be¬ 
fore them. She sang some of the songs and 
translated the foreign words for them. And 
between the three of them they made up groups 




TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 219 

of songs and planned the settings for quite a 
number of tableaux. Then Sonia came in with 
more Russian cookies and iced tea. And as 
they ate and drank they continued to talk of 
the pageant. Madame spoke to Sonia rapidly 
in Russian and Sonia’s square face lit up, and 
she nodded, smilingly. 

“ Sonia approves of the plan,” said Madame. 
“ She knows she will have to help with the cos¬ 
tumes, but she does not mind.” Sonia shook 
her head and smiled again. “ We can work up 
the pageant itself, and the advertising and the 
details and the hard part we shall leave to my 
press agent.” She dismissed the matter with 
a wave of her hands. It was quite simple when 
one had a good press agent! 

“ Whew! ” whistled Jerry as Madame’s car 
left them at the door of the Mountain House. 
“ She’s a live wire, all right! ” 

“ I feel guilty about these earrings, though,” 
worried June. 

“ You look stunning in them, though. 
Maybe they’re some of the crown jewels! ” 

“ Oh, Jerry! Then I’d have to give them 
back! ” 

“ Aw, shucks! I was just romancing! Of 


220 


JUNE’S QUEST 

course they’re not. Hasn’t she got lovely 
hair? ” 

“ Beautiful. How old do you suppose she 
is? She can’t be more than twenty, can she, 
even if her hair is white? ” 

“ Get out! She told us it is thirteen years 
since she left Russia — in the middle of the 
upheaval, I gathered, didn’t you? — and she 
must have been more than seven. She’s about 
thirty-five, I should judge. Fully thirty-five.” 
They went upstairs together. “ Going to have 
breakfast with me to-morrow morning? Then 
you’ll have to get up early, for I’m going to be 
first on deck when the dining-room door opens 
at eight o’clock, for an early start and round 
up some more soapless and hopeless cottagers! ” 
“ I’ll be there,” June promised. 

She switched on her light and looked at her¬ 
self in the glass above her bureau. She made 
a ledge of her hands, and rested her chin on it. 
The topaz drops gleamed in the light as they 
swayed to and fro, and they matched her eyes, 
which seemed somehow to be longer, and slightly 
slanting upward at the corners, they melted 
into the soft tan of her cheeks, and harmonized 
with the coppery glints in her brown hair. 



TOPAZES AND OLD GOLD 221 

They added a dash, a trace of oriental mystery, 
to her face. 

“ You don’t look like a little maid from 
school,” she told the reflection. “ You look like 
a woman in a novel — a — a woman of the 
world! ” She took them off, rubbed her eyes, 
and she was again a sedate and demure maid 
from Miss Spencer’s Select! 




CHAPTER XVI 


ASHES OF MEMORIES 

As Jerry predicted, the hotels took to the 
scheme eagerly. One of them even placed a 
large room at the disposal of Madame and her 
press agent, so that she could hold rehearsals 
and business interviews there instead of at her 
home. The summer guests at the hotels and 
cottages, too, were glad of the chance to help 
under the direction of the well-known singer. 
They were glad, even, of the chance to speak to 
her for a few moments and shake hands with 
her. 

Madame wore her honors gracefully, accept¬ 
ing their homage, and being gracious to every¬ 
one, but reserving her sweetest smiles for June, 
who was her right-hand lady through it all. 

On Friday morning they held the first real 
rehearsal, and it was a success. There were 
several girls and men at the various hotels who 


222 


ASHES OF MEMORIES 223 

had good speaking or singing voices, and the 
pageant grew to unthought-of proportions as 
opportunities were made for the really good 
talent. 

The last enthusiastic “ performer ” had gone, 
and Madame and June remained in the big 
room which echoed hollowly to their voices and 
to Sonia’s footsteps as she moved about, pick¬ 
ing up carelessly flung “ props,” and keeping 
busy until the car should come for Madame. 

Madame herself sank wearily into a big chair 
and June dropped at her feet and sat with her 
own feet curled under her, and her chin resting 
on the arm of Madame’s chair. 

“ I am so glad we thought of it,” said 
Madame, with a tired sigh, but her eyes 
sparkled. “ It will be a beautiful thing when 
it is finished! ” 

June raised her eyes to the impromptu stage 
and nodded. The rehearsal had been rather 
sketchy — a few yards of cheesecloth and a 
few chairs being almost everything in the way 
of costuming and scenery — and it had been 
rather chaotic, but June’s artistic sense could 
see beauty in it when it was all straightened out, 
and every one knew exactly what to do without 




224 


JUNE’S QUEST 

having to try things several times. Madame 
was pleased and enthusiastic, and that was 
everything. 

“ And when am I to meet your father? ” 

“ Oh, he is coming back to-night.” said June, 
happily. “ I’ll bring him to-morrow, shall 
I?” 

“ To-morrow evening, then. I shall be 
away all day. Be sure to bring him then. I 
want him to try the violin accompaniments with 
me. He will be just as much of a drawing card 
as I am. Indeed my press agent tells me, con¬ 
fidentially, that his reputation is greater than 
mine.” She paused. “ Do you think he’ll do 
it?” 

“ Oh, he will,” said June, confidently. 
“ He’d do anything for me.” 

“But it will mean staying longer at the 
hotel,” said Madame. “ Perhaps he won’t 
want to do that. And he is a soloist and may 
object to playing even one accompaniment — ” 

“ Oh, he’ll do it, Madame! Don’t worry 
about that! He’ll do anything for me! ” 

“ Of course,” laughed Madame, giving her 
a little squeeze. “ Who wouldn’t? — Does he 
look like you, June? ” 


ASHES OF MEMORIES 225 

“ They say a little. He’s very good- 
looking.” 

“ Then of course he doesn’t.” Madame’s 
eyes crinkled at the corners and both she and 
June laughed. “ I want to ask him a ques¬ 
tion — not about the pageant — when I see 
him. There are just you two, aren’t there? ” 

“ Yes. Mother — ” 

“You told me — and he is heartbroken.” 
Her blue eyes were suddenly sad. “ Ah, it is 
terrible to lose one who is dear — I — I have 
lost every one, and everything. But he — 
even if he lost you, too, and his violin, would 
still have one precious thing which I have lost 
with the rest! June — one of these days I 
want to tell you something — something no one 
knows but Sonia and one other.” She looked 
into June’s upturned face, and her slender fin¬ 
gers slipped through June’s dark curls. Slen¬ 
der white fingers — dark brown hair — a 
square forehead with a straight hairline and a 
broad sweep of wave upward from it — Her 
hand dropped. 

June, sensing a tension, looked up. “ What 
is the matter, Madame? ” 

Madame was looking into the distance, with 








226 


JUNE’S QUEST 

a puzzled frown on her brow, and a look of 
pain in her eyes. She seemed to return to her 
surroundings slowly, looking at June for a 
moment before replying. 

“Why — why, nothing, June. Why?” 

“ You look pale — ” 

Madame’s hands were clenched tightly. She 
looked at them and unclenched them. She re¬ 
laxed her tense body. She smiled a little. 

“ Nothing at all, June. I am a creature of 
moods, I am afraid. Your hair reminds me 
of something — ” 

She looked at Sonia and shook her head. 
Sonia’s gray eyes were startled. She hurried 
over to Madame and seemed to hover over her 
protectingly. 

Madame gathered her things together. “Ah, 
there is Michael with the car. I can take you 
to your hotel, and drop you there. Sometime 
when we are sitting alone by the fireside, and 
the wind is howling outside, and the snow is 
drifting and the sleet is lashing the windows, I 
shall tell you — . Or sometime when we are sit¬ 
ting together in the moonlight with the scent 
of roses and honeysuckle making us yearn for 
something we have known and lost, I shall tell 




ASHES OF MEMORIES 227 

you — the story of Olga Sergieff. Sometime 
when we are happy.” 

The automatic man stood in the doorway, 
saluting gravely. June had a moment in which 
to tell Madame of her fancy that the man and 
his car were well-made automatic toys, and 
Madame’s eyes lost their look of pain. She 
said something to the man in Russian, with a 
laugh. He started, looked slightly horrified, 
saluted, and laughed — actually tinnily! 

Sometime when the wind was howling out¬ 
side — Didn’t Madame know that she would 
be going in just a short while? Of course not 
forever! Something inside June cried out in 
protest at the thought of that. Perhaps some 
winter evening in Madame’s town house when 
June had a holiday or a week-end from school. 

What was Madame’s story ? What made the 
laughter leave her blue velvet eyes, so that they 
became almost black with suffering? June 
shuddered at the thought of the terrible things 
she must have seen in Russia to sadden her 
whole life that way. And what did she mean 
by saying that Paul would still have one 
precious thing she had lost? 

She spent the afternoon wondering about it, 




228 


JUNE’S QUEST 

and also wondering whether the mysterious 
music teacher was her mother after all. She 
was conscious of a little spark of hope that she 
would not be. 

“ Isn’t that mean of me? ” she asked Jerry, 
after she had confessed it to him over the dinner 
table. “ Somehow, I don’t want to meet her 
now. I guess that actress — Miss LaFitte — 
sort of disillusioned me — or — something. 
And Dad is just the kind who would — would 
stick to her after he found her, no matter what 
she was like. And, Jerry, I j ust couldn’t stand 
it if she weren’t some one simply wonderful! ” 

“ She couldn’t help but be wonderful,” said 
Jerry soothingly. 

“ Why? ” asked June. “ What do you 
mean? ” 

“ Think it over,” advised Jerry, solemnly, 
“ and it will come to you.” 

They went to meet the last train. June’s 
heart beat quickly. Suppose — suppose — 
he had a woman with him — ! But he was 
alone. He seemed surprised to see them. 

“ Why, Kid,” he said, “ you didn’t have to 
wait up for me.” 

“ Oh, we have so much to tell you,” said June. 





ASHES OF MEMORIES 229 


“ I couldn’t go to bed and wait until morning! ” 
Then she plunged into the middle of her story, 
and Paul listened, bewildered. He gathered 
that June had somehow (in some mysterious 
way involving a skunk and an Egyptian king) 
met Olga Sergieff, and was helping her to do 
something. It didn’t make sense at all. 

“ And you will, won’t you? ” she finished. 

“ Huh? ” Paul was more bewildered than 
ever. “ Where do I come in in this skunk - 
Russian-singer-Egyptian-king mix-up? ” 
“We want you to accompany us.” 

Paul shook his head, helplessly. “ June, 
have a heart. I have been traveling all day, 
and I’m a trifle more dense than usual. Wait 
until to-morrow morning, and ask me again.” 

June squeezed his arm and rubbed her cheek 
against it. She glanced toward Jerry’s dim 
figure. “ Dad,” she whispered. “ Was she? ” 
“ No.” 

“ Oh, Dad! I’m sorry! You’re always be¬ 
ing disappointed, aren’t you? ” 

“ Seems that way, June.” 

She sighed. Then she smiled in the dark. 
“ I do want you to meet Madame! She’s a 
darling, isn’t she, Jerry? ” 


230 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ Who is? ” asked Jerry. “ I don’t listen in 
on whispered conversations, and I don’t go 
about admitting that anonymous females are 
darlings! ” 

“ Isn’t he a bear? ” gurgled June. “ Ma¬ 
dame, of course! ” 

“ Ah, that’s different. Madame is — 
Madame! ” 

They had reached the porch of the hotel, 
and June surveyed her father in the light of 
the porch lantern. She noticed how tired he 
looked. 

“ Let’s go right to bed. And don’t sit up 
talking about things,” said June, maternally. 

Nevertheless, as soon as Paul and Jerry 
reached their room Paul turned to him with the 
demand: “ What on earth is it all about? ” 

“ It’s too long a story to tell to-night,” said 
J erry. 

“ But, great Scott, if you don’t tell me now 
I’ll have a nightmare with Russian singers and 
skunks and Egyptian mummies running around 
in it. — What a combination of characters! ” 

“ You’ve forgotten Willy,” laughed Jerry. 
“ He started it by chasing the skunk that was 
Mentu-Hotep, really.” 


ASHES OF MEMORIES 231 


“ For goodness’ sake! ” laughed Paul. tc Be¬ 
fore I go completely goofy, tell me whom she 
expects me to accompany and where! ” 

Jerry settled himself in an armchair and put 
his hands behind his head, settling comfortably 
down on his backbone. “ Any one who uses 
‘ goofy ’ and ‘ whom ’ in the same sentence be¬ 
trays his state of mind plainly. So I’d better 
tell you before you bite a piece out of the bed.” 
So he told the whole wild tale. 

“ That’s June,” gasped Paul, smothering his 
laughter in a pillow. “ The minute I turn my 
back she’s into some wild adventure. And 
since she’s adopted Willy! ” 

“ But wait until you see Madame! Temper¬ 
amental as the deuce! ” 

“ Most Russians are.” 

“ But she isn’t Russian, I’ll bet a cookie! ” 

“ No?” 

“ I’m positive she isn’t. Her accent — You 
can’t tell by that of course but — Well, if she’s 
Russian, I’m Chinese, that’s all! Anyway, 
she’s a peach, and she adores June.” 

“ Don’t we all? ” 

“ I’ll say we do! ” He surprised himself by 
the unexpected fervor in his tone, flushed, and 


232 JUNE'S QUEST 

snapped out the light suddenly. Paul laughed 
softly. 

“ And so she’s dragged you over there every 
night,” said Paul, with seeming innocence. 

“ Oh, I didn’t have to be dragged,” protested 
Jerry, quickly, “ I liked it! ” 

Paul laughed again, and a certain quality in 
the tone of his laugh told Jerry the query had 
not been entirely guileless after all. 

“ You’re a good scout, Jerry,” said Paul. 

Jerry stared at a square of moonlight. He 
and the daughter of the great Paul Severne — 
And if Paul had been displeased he would 
hardly have laughed — or opened the subject at 
all in quite that way. — June at the Thanks¬ 
giving Day game, and at the dance following 
it — wearing her amber earrings! 

“ Madame’s given June the stunningest pair 
of amber earrings — Russian antiques — She 
looks like Cleopatra in them.” 

“ June and the moonlight make a wicked 
combination,” said Paul, solemnly, but with a 
shake of laughter in his voice. “ You’d better 
get some sleep, son.” 

But for a long time after Jerry’s rhythmic 
breathing told he was sleeping, Paul lay awake, 






ASHES OF MEMORIES 233 

thinking of college days, of a girl with golden 
hair and blue eyes. Even the crickets chirping 
outside the window reminded him of their first 
summer’s camping — and Olive. 

The romance of his youth was dead, vanished, 
leaving only ashes of memories. He had June 
to think of now. Olive must go. Perhaps 
Olive did not need him now, but June certainly 
did. 

There was an ache of loneliness in his heart. 
Paul Severne — the great Paul Severne — was 
envying Jerry Laughton, the humble, self- 
styled, “ Ambassador to the Great Unwashed ” 
— envying him because he was young, and 
happy, and in love. 

And after a while he slept to dream of a 
skunk named Anatol, that had blue eyes and 
danced at a college prom with an Egyptian 
mummy named Mentu-Hotep, while Willy ran 
around saying “ Wuf! ” and wearing a pair of 
amber earrings. 






CHAPTER XVII 


ELEGIE 


The next morning June and Paul and Willy 
went for a long tramp through the woods, past 
the hidden lake, and turned aside here and there 
to follow the sound of hidden cascades, and 
paused to exclaim at the sudden wonder of the 
ghostly Indian pipe. All around them lay the 
dim aisles of the woods, piny, and comparatively 
free from undergrowth, and moist and mossy 
where hidden springs gushed forth suddenly. 
They went for the most part silently, their 
footsteps muffled by the soft needles beneath 
their feet. 

Willy curbed his exploring tendencies, ap¬ 
proaching holes with raised ruff, and a comical 
readiness for instant retreat. A scurrying 
chipmunk raised him to the highest pitch of 
delirious delight, but June’s hand was firm on 
the leash, and the chipmunk was swift on his 


234 


ELEGIE 


235 

feet, so the furry morsel escaped to chatter de¬ 
risively from a mossy tree trunk across the 
trail. 

They had been gradually ascending all morn¬ 
ing, and at noon they reached the top of the 
mountain and the panorama of valley lay before 
them. They had brought their lunches, and 
Paul kindled a fire to heat coffee and toast sand¬ 
wiches, while June watched the shadows of the 
clouds scurrying across the valley and hills. 

The surrounding country-side was laid out in 
irregular patches of dark green woods, bright 
green of fields, a dozen different shades of green 
and yellow and brown, with a bright blue and 
silver patch which was the lake. It lay like a 
gigantic patchwork quilt spread over the rather 
bumpy form of a slumbering giant. 

“ I came to a sudden decision last night,” said 
Paul suddenly. 

“ Did you? ” June smiled to herself about the 
conceit of the giant’s quilt, and answered rather 
absently. 

“ I decided that it is not fair to you for us 
to wander around this way. It takes you from 
your friends, and keeps you from making 
more.” He looked at her directly. “Tell me, 


236 JUNE’S QUEST 

June, how many of your school friends invited 
you to spend the summer with them? ” 

She hesitated. “ Di and Cathie and Mary 
did. — At camp and in Canada and the shore.” 

“ You could have divided your vacation 
among them and had a great time. Didn’t you 
want to? ” 

“ Y-yes. I did,” honestly. “ But I couldn’t 
dream of it! You’re all I have and — I do en- 
joy gypsying with you.” 

“ Better than camp and mountains and shores 
with a bunch of young girls and boys? — Well, 
anyway, this summer will be the last unless we 
take week-end trips or something. We’ll take 
an apartment somewhere — wherever you say 
— and have the place full of your friends from 
June to October. How’s that? ” 

“ Oh, that would be fun! But you know I 
wouldn’t go away and leave you all summer! 
I wouldn’t do that, no matter how many invita¬ 
tions I had — not unless we lived together all 
the time.” 

“ And we couldn’t do that very well, with my 
concert tours. — But what I was going to say 
is — I’ve given up the idea of hunting any 
farther for your mother.” 









ELEGIE 


237 


“Dad! But why? ” 

“ Well — for various reasons. It’s fifteen 
years since she — disappeared. Things can 
have happened in between. She may be mar¬ 
ried again — she may be so changed that her 
presence in my — our home — would be an em¬ 
barrassment to you and to me. I have changed, 
and it is only fair to suppose that she has 
changed likewise. And another thing — That 
talk we had about the boys you met in the the¬ 
atre lobby went a great deal deeper than you 
thought it would — too deep for comfort, in 
fact. It showed me that I had been chasing 
rainbows and neglecting you — ” 

“ Oh, Dad! You’ve been most generous and 
thoughtful. All the girls envy me the allow¬ 
ance you send me and the gifts and — ” 

“ But that’s not everything, Kid.” 

“ No,” in a small voice. 

“ And the things you’ve needed most I 
haven’t given you — ” 

“ No,” in a smaller voice. 

“ You see? I could have lost you quite eas¬ 
ily— if I haven’t already.” 

“ Oh, you haven’t, Dad. This summer has 
brought us so wonderfully close together.” 








238 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“Has it, Kid? I’m glad. One of these days 
you’re going to fall in love and marry, and then 
— I’ll be your famous father miles away some¬ 
where — or — your confidant and friend. 
And there will be two of us miles apart, or two 
of us very close together.” 

“ We’ll be close together, Dad, always. 
And if I ever do fall in love I’ll tell you all 
about it. I promise and then there’ll be three 
of us! — Willy, don’t lick my chin! 

“ Then you won’t mind staying for the 
pageant? And you will play Madame’s ac¬ 
companiments? ” 

“ That last is a little out of my line, June — 
But I’ll do it,” he added, hastily. 

“ And you won’t be sorry! Just wait until 
you see her! ” 

“ With you and Jerry raving about her, you 
stir my curiosity! There’s just one other lady 
Jerry raves about — ” 

“Does he?” Then she bit her lip in 
vexation. 

“ A certain person who looks like Cleopatra 
in amber earrings.” He ran his finger along 
Willy’s back and Willy wiggled his spine. 

June laughed. “ Did he tell you about those 





ELEGIE 


239 

earrings? Oh, Dad, you should see them! I 
want to wear them in the pageant and knock 
everybody for a row of tombstones! — But 
Madame is a dear, really. And Mentu-Hotep 
is priceless! Willy chases him and then 
Mentu-Hotep gets on to a chair or table and 
pats him benevolently on the head. Willy gets 
furious! ” 

“ Wuf!”said Willy. 

“ And you’ll like Sonia, too. She’s just like 
a feather bed, with a shrill voice, and I never 
heard any one talk so fast in any language as 
she does in Russian! ” 

“ A feather bed with a shrill voice would be a 
curiosity,” laughed Paul. “ G’way, Willy! 
This pup has a perfect mania for licking 
people’s chins! ” 

“ Usually Jerry’s. Jerry says he must have 
the chin he loves to touch. Do you suppose 
you’re fooling Willy into believing that’s a flea 
ambling down his back that way? ” 

“ You never can tell what Willy’s believing, 
June. He’s a pretty wise dog. — There, the 
fire’s out. Let’s start back, shall we? I’d bet¬ 
ter take Willy’s leash, for he won’t be easy to 
hold going down hill.” 



240 JUNE’S QUEST 

In the evening June and Paul and Jerry 
went to see Madame. 

Madame was dressing, Sonia said, and asked 
June to come upstairs to her room, leaving Paul 
and Jerry in the music room. 

Madame was profuse in her apologies. “ I 
was late,” she said. “ It took me longer than I 
expected, and I have hurried, oh, so fast! ” 

“ You needn’t have hurried for us,” said 
June. 

Sonia busied herself helping Madame with 
her hair, and June sat in a low chair and looked 
on, marvelling at the deftness of Sonia’s clumsy- 
looking hands. 

“ Did you bring your father? ” asked 
Madame. “ Is it all right? ” 

June nodded. 

At last Madame was arrayed in a cornflower 
blue gown, with silver slippers, a silver band in 
her hair, and a sapphire ring on one hand. She 
looked rather tired and wan, so she touched her 
cheeks lightly with rouge. Sonia said some¬ 
thing to her, and Madame smiled. 

“ What a tyrant she is! She says I must rest 
for fifteen minutes. — I do feel tired.” She 
relaxed again in her chair and closed her eyes. 



ELEGIE 


241 


Up from the music room floated a strain of 

music. Paul had found it impossible to resist 

the lure of the music-room, and was playing 

* 

softly — Massenet’s Elegie again. And there 
was a quality in it which June had never heard 
before. The violin sobbed its yearning. The 
music soared to the highest ecstasy of agony, 
dropped to the breathless sobbing of spent grief, 
and through it all one could feel the soul throb¬ 
bing and quivering with anguish. 

Madame drew in a sudden sharp breath. 
The music quieted, became smoother; the 
turbulent spirit was calmed and resigned to its 
bereavement; died to a low breath, a hovering 
over sad memories. Madame’s eyes were 
wide, and her lips parted. She was looking 
away into space. Sonia put her finger to her 
lips warning June to be still. 

“ Ah! ” cried Madame, sharply. “ I see — 
a pine-tree — mists swirling around it — eve¬ 
ning mists — a camp fire and across its glow — 
across — ” She closed her eyes, and frowned. 
Her whole form became tense. “ There is 
some one else — I can’t remember — I can’t re¬ 
member any more. Help me! Help me to 
remember!” Still Sonia remained quiet, 







242 


JUNE’S QUEST 

watching. The blue eyes opened. They were 
almost black with suffering. Her slim white 
hands were twisted together, and her breath 
came in deep sobs, like that of one in physical 
pain. Then she relaxed with a tired sigh. “ I 
cannot,” she murmured. “ I cannot — think 

— remember. — I have a headache.” She 
pushed back her hair from her forehead, and 
closed her eyes for a moment, and lines of pain 
showed around her mouth. 

“ Madame is not well,” whispered Sonia. 

“ We will go, then,” said June, softly, but 
Madame heard. 

“ I am all right — only tired. I shall go 
down with you and meet your father and then 

— he will excuse me — perhaps — if I do not 
sing. 

“ Rest a while,” said Sonia, and added a few 
words in Russian, words with a crooning lilt to 
them, and Madame lay back passively while 
Sonia smoothed her forehead. 

“ Let us go down,” said Madame in a few 
minutes. She said it calmly and smiled, but 
there were still marks of suffering in her face, 
pale beneath the dash of rouge. 

They went down slowly. The living-room 








ELEGIE 


243 


was dark, but the music-room was lighted 
warmly with a rosy-shaded lamp by the piano. 
Paul stood in the glow of it, his face sharply 
silhouetted against the shade, while he bent 
over some music. Madame saw his profile and 
drew back. 

“ No,” she breathed, hanging back like a 
child. “No. I do not want to. I will not. 
I do not want to meet him! ” She turned to 
June. “ I cannot,” piteously. “ Do not make 
me. June — ” She crumpled suddenly into 
Sonia’s strong arms. 

“ Come up in a little while,” said Sonia, and 
carried her mistress’ limp form upstairs. 

June stood for a moment shocked and un¬ 
decided what she should do. Then she went to 
Paul and Jerry and told them what had hap¬ 
pened. “ I think she is over-tired,” she said. 
“ She isn’t very strong, and perhaps there has 
been some emotional strain. Sonia wants me 
to go up. Will you wait for me? ” They 
nodded. 

For a while after June had gone Paul turned 
the leaves of music, but Jerry could see that he 
turned them absently. 

“ I think I have heard Madame’s voice — 




244 


JUNE’S QUEST 

met her, perhaps. Of course just now her voice 
was strained and lower-pitched than an or¬ 
dinary talking voice would be. But still — 
What is she like ? Tall? Brown eyes?” 

“ No. Little, white-haired, but young, and 
with eyes like blue velvet, as June expresses it.” 

Paul stood for a moment, deep in thought, 
then he reached for the telephone which stood 
handily to the piano. 

June closed the bedroom door softly. Sonia 
sat in a rocking chair with Madame in her arms, 
and she was crooning to her — not in Russian, 
June noticed, but in broken English. 

Madame looked up. 

“ Do not let him come up! ” she whispered, 
her eyes wide and frightened. “ Do not let him 
come, June.” 

“ He weell not,” said Sonia. “ Do not be 
’fraid, Leetle One. He weell stay — down¬ 
stairs — ” 

“ Why, of course,” said June. “ Dad 
wouldn’t come up here.” 

Madame looked at her uncertainly. “ Of 
course not,” she said with a little sigh. “ This 
is not Russia — ” 

“ Do not try to remember,” said Sonia. 




ELEGIE 


245 

“Forget — forget — everyt’ing. It is not— 
not good to remember — too mooch. Sleep. 
Sonia weell sing.” 

“ I do not have to see him, do I? ” begged 
Madame, looking at June pleadingly. “ Do 
not say I have to meet that man — ” 

“Why — why — no,” stammered June. 
“Not if you don’t want to — ” What was 
there about her handsome, distinguished-look¬ 
ing father which repelled Madame so strongly? 
“ I’m sorry you don’t like him — ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Madame, wearily. 
“ But — it does things to me — here,” touch¬ 
ing her heart. 

“ Can’t I get you something? ” asked June 
helplessly. “ Some smelling-salts or — or — 
something? ” 

Sonia shook her head. “ Eet is not that 
kind,” she said. “ Leetle One, do not — do 
not.” 

Madame did not answer. She looked before 
her with the intensive gaze of one thinking very 
hard, oblivious to her surroundings. Sonia 
continued to rock and to croon. June watched 
with fascinated eyes. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, then 








246 


JUNE’S QUEST 

Madame sighed, like one awaking from sleep. 
“ I cannot think,” she whispered. “ I cannot 

— remember — ” Then she hid her face in 
Sonia’s ample bosom and sobbed, great, form- 
racking sobs, and Sonia held her until she be¬ 
came calmer, then she picked her up and laid 
her on her bed. Madame lay there quietly, an 
occasional shudder running through her frame. 
She turned her head and smiled weakly. 

“Did I frighten you, June?” she asked. 
“ I am all right now. You look pale and terri¬ 
fied, child.” 

June came towards the bed and knelt beside 
her. “ Oh, you did frighten me,” she said. 

Madame’s hand gripped hers weakly, but 
warmly. “To-morrow I’ll tell you — about 
it. Tell your father — I am — too ashamed 

— but — ” 

“ Don’t think about it,” said June, sooth¬ 
ingly. “If you want to tell me to-morrow — ” 
“I do! I’ve wanted to tell you ever since 
you came.” 

Sonia stood at the doorway, and embraced 
June with the same all-enfolding, all-engulfing 
embrace as that of a feather bed, and the tears 
ran down her quivering face. 





ELEGIE 


247 

Downstairs Paul was talking over the tele¬ 
phone. “Well, it’s about time! Is Max 
Hershfield there? ” 

The answer came back cautiously. “ Mr. 
Hershfield? Who is deese? I tell him you 
called.” 

“ This is Paul Severne — ” 

“ Oy-oy! Sure! Vait, vonce, Mr. Severne. 
Deese is Mr. Hershfield himselluf! You 
vant-it I should — Sure, I got-it just der place 
for you — ” 

“No,no,Max. I’m sewn up tight. It’snot 
that. Say, Max, I want to ask you about Olga 
Sergieff. What’s her story? ” 

“ She vas a Rooshian — a vat-you-call 
refugee — ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know, Max. What’s her real 
story? ” 

There was a little silence, a pregnant silence. 
“Dot is her story. Aber — To you, Mr. 
Severne, if you should come to mein offitz to¬ 
morrow mornink, Mr. Severne, I should maybe 
tell you sometings difference — Ah? ” 

“ I’ll be there, Max.” 






CHAPTER XVIII 


THE STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 

r ilMH 

With Jerry off somewhere selling soap, and 
Paul called away on a sudden business appoint¬ 
ment, June felt very much alone, so she took 
Willy with her when she went to call upon 
Madame. And to relieve Mrs. Watson’s mind 
she said she didn’t expect to be back for 
luncheon. She had puzzled all night about the 
strange occurrence at Madame’s, for she felt 
that there was more to it than just nerves or 
temperament. There was some mystery about 
Madame, and perhaps it would be explained. 

It was rather funny, too, the way men re¬ 
acted to a thing like that. Jerry was frankly 
panic-stricken, and Paul was moody — not 
hurt, apparently, or resentful, but just silent, 
lie said hardly anything at breakfast, either. 
But then it was rather hard on him, accustomed 


248 


STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 249 

as he was to applause and admiration, to over¬ 
hear a woman go into hysterics rather than meet 
him. In a way it had its funny aspects, too, 
although of course it was terribly tragic for 
Madame. 

Madame was reclining in a chaise longue 
which had been brought out into the rose gar¬ 
den. She looked pale and tired, and there 
were dark rings around her eyes. Her ex¬ 
pression lightened, however, when she saw June 
with Willy tugging at the leash, and she sat up 
and leaned on one elbow. 

“ Oh, you have brought your so funny little 
dog again! ” she cried. 

Mentu-Hotep purred in a rumbling bass 
voice, curled up beside his mistress. At the 
sound of her voice he opened his topaz eyes, 
stretched out a monstrous paw, unsheathed his 
curved claws and regarded them lovingly, then 
drew his paw back and curling it about his nose 
went to sleep registering supreme contempt for 
anything so negligible as an adventure hound. 

“ I am so afraid I frightened you last night,” 
said Madame, throwing a bright, fat cushion 
to the grass for June to sit upon. “ I don’t 
know what your father must have thought of 


250 


JUNE’S QUEST 

me. I hope he thought of me as temperamental 
or unstrung rather than rude — ” 

“ Dad understands,” said June, “ and when 
a thing isn’t understandable he understands all 
the better — if you know what I mean.” 

“ I think I do,” said Madame. “ You love 
your father, don’t you? ” 

“ More than all the world. You see he’s all 
I’ve got.” 

“ Yes. — And now I can’t ask him the favor I 
wanted to ask — ” 

“ About the accompaniments? That will be 
all right. I asked him last night and he said 
4 uh-huh.’ ” 

“ No, it was something else — Well — sit 
down, June.” 

June dropped to the cushion and drew Willy 
into her arms. Madame’s frail white fingers 
played with a blade of grass for a moment. 
“ I promised to tell you — ” 

“ Don’t if you’d rather not,” said June. 

“ But I want to. It is something only one 
other person knows — beside Sonia. It will 
help you to understand — perhaps — I don’t 
quite understand myself. — I — I am not Rus¬ 
sian, June.” 











STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 251 

“ I thought not, but then lots of singers, Dad 
says, take foreign names — ” 

“ Yes, but that is not my reason. 

44 Fourteen years ago, I awoke one morning in 
the home of a Russian peasant. Imagine, if 
you can, awaking to-morrow morning and 
finding yourself in a home in a foreign country, 
with all your associates speaking a language you 
could not understand. Imagine remembering 
nothing of what had happened before you awoke 
— who you were, or how you came there, or 
who those people were! I tried that first morn¬ 
ing, to remember who I was, and I think I 
nearly went crazy. But I could not remember 
anything at all! 

44 The family crowded around me and asked 
me questions which I could not understand, but 
there was no misunderstanding their joy that I 
had 4 come back.’ 

44 It was winter, and we were hemmed into the 
house. I had plenty of time to think, and when 
I was tired with trying to remember I watched 
the family. Sonia was the mother. There was 
a giant of a man, her husband, and two burly 
sons, one of them married to a lovely little girl 




252 


JUNE'S QUEST 

who had a baby. The girl sang lullabies to the 
baby before the fire and I watched and learned 
some of the songs. I sang to forget, and to try 
to remember. My songs were all I could re¬ 
member. They kept me sane, I think. 

“ It was bitterly cold and I was kept well 
wrapped in warm rugs and fed quantities of 
hot tea and soup with rich sour cream in it. 
I began to learn their language. 

“ Down in the village was a well-educated 
priest who kept the school. He came up to see 
me. I think Sonia must have told him about 
me, for he came in and looked at me kindly. 
Then he spoke to me. I did not understand. 
Then he spoke in English, and my heart gave 
a great leap. I knew that was my language, 
and I answered him, asking questions so fast 
that he put his hands over his ears and his teeth 
made a white line in the midst of his black 
beard, and the whole family crowding around 
us shouted with glee. Even the baby pounded 
his mother in the face with a spoon and crowed. 

‘You are English! ’ he cried. 

English! ’ they shouted and clapped their 
hands. 

“ From that time on the priest came every 


STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 253 

day, and taught me Russian and said things to 
me to keep my courage up. I learned that I 
had been found by one of the sons, half-frozen 
on the windswept steppe, a long time before — 
several months before — and I had remained 
in a daze. I was like one, the priest said, who 
had had a great shock. 

“ He told me things about Russia, too, and 
the great war which was going on. England 
and Germany — all the civilized world in fact, 
were fighting. It seemed incredible. 

“ I like to remember those snow-bound days 
in that Russian home. There were peace and 
good will, laughter and love. But when I 
think of Russia, I do not recall those days but 
something vastly different. Something hor¬ 
rible — 

“ News began to come to us through foreign 
newspapers smuggled to us, about the certain 
defeat of the allies. We learned that the old 
regime had been overthrown, that the people 
had taken possession and were destroying the 
czar’s palace and everything that symbolized 
culture. The Czar and his family had been put 
to death. The priest was indignant — Then 
came a day — ” 





254 JUNE’S QUEST 

Madame shuddered and covered her face 
with her hands, and remained there for a mo¬ 
ment. When she looked up again her face 
was gray and drawn and her eyes were full of 
pain. 

“ I cannot tell you about that day. It is too, 
too horrible. I awake sometimes and see drip¬ 
ping swords, and crimson-dropping knouts — 
the village kiosk in flames — the priest’s school 
burned to ashes — the priest himself —. Ah, it 
is too horrible. I scream sometimes in the 
night, and Sonia comes and holds me. Ah, 
Sonia’s price is above rubies! I would not tell 
you of the terrible things I saw — they would 
give you nightmares, just to hear of them. 

“ When it was all over there were just two of 
us left — Sonia and I. Sonia’s stalwart sons 
were killed, her husband also. And her daugh¬ 
ter and her baby — 

“ It is a terrible thing to see a whole nation 
gone mad — crazed with the lust for killing! 

“ Sonia and I wrapped ourselves well in our 
thick furs and slipped away in the night and 
walked and walked and walked. Sonia was 
stronger than I, in spite of her bereavement, and 
she made arrangements for us to ride in farm- 








STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 255 

ers’ carts. We rode for miles and miles over 
frozen steppes, saying not a word to each other, 
nor to the man who brought us. 

“Ido not know much about it. My mind was 
too numbed with grief and horror to register 
correctly. I only know that we finally reached 
a town on the coast, and there in the square I 
saw a dingy house with a flag above it. It was 
an American flag, and it flew above the office 

c 

of the American consul. He had his bags all 
packed ready to leave on a ship which sailed in 
half an hour, and he took Sonia and me with 
him. 

“ More nightmares of pitching seas, icy decks, 
biting winds and seasickness, and dark nights 
running in constant fear of U-boats. 

“ Finally we reached the coast of France. 
There we changed vessels. 

“ 4 We’re not at the end of our journey,’ said 
the Consul, as I would have said good-bye to 
him at the dock. 4 We’ll be shipmates for a 
long time yet. We sail to-morrow for good old 
New York.’ 

4 4 4 New York? ’ I said, and my heart gave a 
sudden little leap. 44 4 But I am English, am I 
not? ’ 


256 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ I had told him my story at once before even 
leaving Russia and he had advised me to keep 
up my role of a mysterious Russian woman 
and say nothing to any one — an easy thing to 
do as I was deathly sick all the way to France. 

“ He laughed. 4 English! ’ he said, 4 Why, 
you’re as American as — as — scrapple! ’ 

44 4 How do you know? ’ I asked. 

4 4 4 You say trolley for tram, and you say 
spigot for tap. and you say eoctrordinary in¬ 
stead of eoctrawd’rtry — * 

4 4 4 That’s enough,’ I said. 

4 4 4 But still,’ he went on, 4 it would be safer 
for you to adopt a Russian name.’ 

44 In my pocket when I was found half-frozen 
on the steppe was a scrap of an envelope, badly 
blurred and worn by friction of the lining of 
my pocket, and almost indecipherable. It 
looked like 4 Olga Sergieff.’ At least that 
name was as good as any other for purposes of 
identification, and of disguise. When I ar¬ 
rived in America, I could either find my own 
name or adopt another more American one. 

44 Well, even as bad a sailor as I am can’t stay 
seasick forever, and even waiting for an attack 
by a U-boat becomes monotonous after a cer- 





STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 257 

tain length of time. So we had to amuse our¬ 
selves somehow. We worked up an informal 
concert and I agreed to sing some Russian lulla¬ 
bies and love songs which I had learned from 
Sonia. I received a number of encores, and 
after the concert was over a little round man, 
chewing a big, fat cigar, came to me and asked 
me if I would consider a theatrical career under 
his management. He was Max Hershfield — 
as fine and sympathetic and square a man as I 
have ever known. Because he was so sure that 
I was really some famous concert singer incog. 
I told him my story, and he almost wept when I 
finished. 

“ 4 You should put yourself in my hands/ he 
said. ‘ What can you do when you get to New 
York. Without friends, family, a name even, 
and with no money ! 5 

“ I saw reason in his arguments and I ac¬ 
cepted his offer, gratefully. I have been with 
him ever since. 

“ In New York I went to a doctor who told 
me that I was doing wisely in taking up wdiat 
had evidently been my former profession, as in 
that way I might come across people who had 
known me and would recognize me, and by keep- 


258 JUNE’S QUEST 

ing occupied and happy my memory might 
gradually return. 

“ The name Olga Sergieff carried a romantic 
air, and bore out the story Max and his press 
agent had worked up — and truthfully as far 
as it went — about my being a Russian refugee. 

“ So here I am, still Olga Sergieff. Some¬ 
times, as last night, it seems as though a curtain 
lifts just for a second and I see something — 
last night a pine-tree, a camp fire, and evening 
mists — sometimes an old-fashioned cradle 
and a baby in it.” 

Madame rose suddenly and flung out her 
arms. 

“ You cannot know! It is torment! To lose 
everything and every one and not to know — a 
husband — children — ? Who knows ? The 
tragic part of it is that I know — I am sure — 
I had both and yet I cannot remember their 
names, nor how they looked. I could meet 
them and not know them. Parents, brothers, 
sisters — if I had them, they axe gone. Sonia 
has lost her dear ones, but she ha k s her memories. 
Your father has lost his wife, but he remembers 
her. He can recall incidents of his courtship, 
of his honeymoon, of his sweet companionship 







STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 259 

with her. As the song says, they are memories 
that ‘ bless and burn,’ but, Oh, June, they 
bless!” 

“ But can’t something be done? ” asked 
June. 

“I’m doing all I can. If I had the strength, 
perhaps more music like last night would open 
the gate of memory a little more, but I could 
not stand it. To think and think — to strive 
to remember something that just eludes the 
grasp — 

“ My hair has been snow-white ever since I 
— awoke. But I am young. My physician 
said not more than forty at the very most. 

“So you see, June, child. I have the things 
you want — money, a home, Sonia to love me, 
a career, fame but — Ah, well, who in this 
world has everything? You have your youth, 
friends, your father, your whole life before 
you — 

“ Was your father very angry last night — 
or hurt? Would he forgive at least enough to 
play your group of gypsy songs? ” 

“ I am sure he would.” 

“And would he mind if I don’t see him? 
One time,” went on Madame, dreamily, “ I 




260 


JUNE’S QUEST 

went to hear him play. I got as far as the lobby 
of the concert hall and saw a full-size portrait 
of him. I would not go in. He made the 
shivers go down my back.” 

“Dad is very good-looking,” said June, 
stiffly. “ And most women like him. He 
doesn’t tell me, of course, but I can see it, and 
I know that I could have had several step¬ 
mothers — ” 

Madame dropped to her knees on the grass 
beside June and took her in her arms. “ Of 
course he is,” she laughed. “ I do not mean 
that at all. That is why my feeling for him is 
so strange. Perhaps we are not spiritually at¬ 
tuned. Perhaps his aura is pink and mine is 
a particularly clashing shade of blue or some¬ 
thing! ” Her arms tightened suddenly. 
“June — Do you know why I went to those 
settlements — why I had those girls’ clubs ? I 
was looking for a girl — to adopt — to give a 
home and everything her heart desires. None 
of them appealed to me. You do. Will you 
come and live with me, June? ” 

June drew back startled. Madame’s eyes 
were glowing like sapphires. “I — Why, I 
couldn’t leave Dad, Madame — I — ” 




STORY OF OLGA SERGIEFF 261 

“ Does your father really care for you? ” 

“ Why, certainly! He’s my father! I am 
all he has! No matter how much I love you — 
and I do, Madame, more than any one I ever 
knew! — I couldn’t do that!” 

Madame sighed. “I — I suppose not.” 

Sonia descended upon them gesticulating 
and talking rapid Russian. Madame arose 
and laughed. 

“ She says I must not kneel on the grass. 
She is a terrible tyrant. Furthermore, 
luncheon is ready — luncheon for two.” 




CHAPTER XIX 

s - uxmH 

THE HEELS OF NICODEMUS 

“ Hasn’t Dad come back yet? ” June perched 
on the porch railing of the Mountain House 
and swung one foot. 

Jerry settled himself farther on his backbone 
in a creaky wicker rocker. “ No. He’s due 
any minute now.” 

“ Where did he go? ” 

“ He went to town to see Max Hershfield.” 
Jerry grinned involuntarily as he thought of 
the use he had made of the manager’s name 
when he first met Paul. It was purely a rem¬ 
iniscent grin, but June misinterpreted it. 

“ Oh, he hasn’t! Has he, honestly? What 
for? ” 

“ He didn’t tell me,” Jerry evaded, truth¬ 
fully. 44 Why does one usually see managers ? ” 

44 You’re sure he isn’t on the trail of another 
woman? ” 

262 


HEELS OF NICODEMUS 263 

Jerry pretended to be shocked. “Is that 
the way to talk about your revered parent? ” 

“ Well, I didn’t mean it quite the way it 
sounded,” she giggled. “ He says he isn’t go¬ 
ing to look for Mother any more — but I don’t 
think he meant it.” She looked at him sus¬ 
piciously. He looked just a trifle too innocent. 
“ Do you know anything at all? ” 

“ A few things,” modestly. 

“ Silly! I mean where he’s gone and why? ” 

“ June, I did happen to overhear his end of a 
’phone conversation. You wouldn’t want me to 
repeat it, would you? He hasn’t talked it over 
with me, and evidently he hasn’t told you. 
Don’t you think if he wanted us to know he 
would have told us? ” 

“ All right, Jerry. You win the flannel ice¬ 
pick. Of course I could make you tell me — 
Oh, yes, I could, too! — but I won’t tempt you. 
Madame told me her story to-day.” 

“ Did she? ” with a shade too much of eager¬ 
ness. 

June looked at him speculatively. “ But I 
can’t tell you — only — she isn’t Russian, 
Jerry.” 

“ No.” 




264 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ And do you know what, Jerry? She 
wants me to come and live with her.” 

" What ? ” 

“ M-mm. She wanted me to leave Dad! 
Imagine that! ” 

“ Did you want to? ” 

“ Of course not! Leave Dad? Well, I 
should say not!—Funny how she acted about 
Dad, wasn’t it? She seemed to hate the sight 
of him.” 

“ I wonder. — June, did you tell her about 
your mother and your father’s search for her? ” 

“ No. Of course not. Why? ” 

“ Oh, I just wondered.” 

The arrival of Paul right at that moment 
was a distinct relief to Jerry. 

“ Where have you been? ” demanded June, 
sternlv- 

He laughed at her, but he had something of 
the guilty expression of a boy caught in the 
jam closet. “ I went to see two people — Max 
Hershfield, and Dr. Leopold.” 

“ Who’s Dr. Leopold? ” asked June. 
“ Aren’t you well, Dad? ” 

“ Dr. Leopold is a noted psychiatrist — I 
think that’s the thing you call him.” Paul’s 






HEELS OF NICODEMUS 265 

face was grave, but there was a twinkle in his 
eye. 

“Who’s cuckoo?” asked June, flippantly. 
“ You or I? Or are we suspecting Jerry 
again ? 

Paul laughed. June didn’t believe the psy¬ 
chiatrist part of it, and Paul knew she didn’t, 
but Jerry did, and his eyes grew as round as 
saucers. 

“ We’ll have to get to work on our part of 
the pageant,” said Paul, seriously. “We 
haven’t much time, and it will be a little elab¬ 
orate, although Max is getting the scenery for 
us. We’ve got to get a painted cart from 
somewhere, and a donkey, and then we’ll be 
all set. Max will give us all the costumes we 
need.” 

“ You seem to have a pull,” laughed June. 

Jerry laughed. “ Your father’s famous 
enough to have a pull with any manager, June.” 

Paul looked at them severely, his pencil 
poised above a notebook. “ When you children 
are through with your frivolity, we’ll proceed. 
To begin with, I don’t want Madame to see 
any rehearsals of this part of the pageant. Do 
you think that can be arranged? ” 


266 JUNE’S QUEST 

“ If you take charge of it, I think so,” said 
June. 

“ And I don’t want her to see me again until 
the night of the performance.” 

“ Why? ” 

“ Because I ask it, June.” 

“ ’Scuse me, Dad.” 

“ You’ll not have anything to say or sing. 
But you might ask Madame if she knows this 
little Proven9al lullaby. I’ll write the name 
for you. If she does, she might sing that when 
she hears the opening bars of it.” 

“ You’re not peeved at Madame, are you? ” 
ventured June. 

“ Peeved?” 

“ She was afraid you might be, and she 
doesn’t want you to be. She — she doesn’t 
dislike you — really — ” 

“ Doesn’t she? ” 

June frowned. Paul was acting just as 
he used to act in the years before he told her 
about her mother. She felt a little rebuffed. 

They located a gaily-painted cart, and 
IXershfield succeeded in renting a donkey from 
a children’s park. And the rehearsals went on. 

If Madame was curious about June’s part 





HEELS OF NICODEMUS 267 


in the program, she made no sign. She was 
completely satisfied to leave the direction of it 
in Paul’s hands, with June’s assurance that it 
harmonized with the rest of the pageant. Nor 
did she make any attempt to see him again. 

The day of the performance seemed about 
two hours long to June. It was packed full 
of last-minute details. All the morning she 
helped Madame with odds and ends, the trifling 
details which take so much time after everything 
is supposed to be finished, and she went with 
her to view the enormous stage which was being 
erected in one end of the great field where the 
pageant was to be held. It was going to be 
splendid, June decided. 

Shortly before noon Hershfield and Dr. Leo¬ 
pold arrived with Nicodemus, the donkey. 
Nicodemus was a mousy-gray color, with a 
meek expression and floppy gray plush ears. 
Willy gave him one look and became his bitter¬ 
est enemy. In his doggy mind was implanted 
the conviction that this strange animal with 
ears like a rabbit was his rival for June’s af¬ 
fections. He circled about the slim hoofs and 
looked into the meek face, decided the creature 
was harmless, and gave a sudden explosive 


268 


JUNE’S QUEST 

bark. Nicodemus went straight up for a dis¬ 
tance of about six inches, and landed with all 
four feet close together, one ear pointing south 
and the other northeast, and with such a comical 
expression of startled surprise on his face that 
June and Paul laughed aloud. 

Willy felt quite proud of himself. This was 
a new kind of game, almost as much fun as 
chasing Mentu-Hotep! He did it again, but 
this time Nicodemus was prepared, and let loose 
a swift kick that just missed Willy by a whisker. 
Willy’s ruff stood up. He bristled with wrath. 
He made the barnyard ring with his yelps and 
growls, while Nicodemus stood calmly and ap¬ 
parently went to sleep, now and then wagging 
an ear, but not to be tempted into showing all 
his tricks at once. 

But Willy had learned to beware of those 
sharp hoofs. They took Nicodemus away, and 
June carried Willy with her to the porch, where 
she soothed his wounded feelings. 

Max Hershfield was there, a little round fig¬ 
ure of a man, with a big, black, much-chewed 
cigar between his full lips. With him was a 
polished gentleman of typically professional 
aspect, with iron-gray hair, iron-gray goatee, 


HEELS OF NICODEMUS 269 

and piercing black eyes. June was not sur¬ 
prised to learn that the latter was Dr. Leopold, 
but she wondered just why he was there. He 
seemed too professional in his bearing to be 
there just as a friend. 

But she had little time to think of the matter, 
for they had to examine the costumes and scen¬ 
ery and go through a hasty dress rehearsal. 

The evening was warm and clear. The 
moon had waned, but there were plenty of lights 
— electric bulbs strung on wires, and Chi¬ 
nese lanterns. Dusk had hardly fallen before 
groups began sauntering into the grounds, find¬ 
ing seats or walking about. Children ran 
about among them, playing tag with shrill 
whoops and getting into every one’s way, but 
treated with good-natured tolerance typical of 
Americans in a holiday mood. There were 
women in evening gowns covered with silken 
shawls or light wraps. Others wore sport 
clothes. There were men in full dress and in 
knickers. Over all hovered a cloud of ciga¬ 
rette smoke, not stuffy, as it would be in a room, 
but aromatic, like an incense to the god of 
pleasure. The air tingled with excitement. 

The pageant went well. Madame was at 



270 JUNE'S QUEST 

her best, and Paul, from behind the scenes, 
played those accompaniments which she had 
specified. There was a group of Irish songs, 
with a colleen and a boy in costume, acting the 
parts. There were some simple English songs, 
some Fourteenth Century French ones, some 
children’s play songs, some old folk songs. 
Some were sung by Madame, and some by the 
actors. There was a very clever Spanish dan¬ 
cer who was well received. She was a find, 
Madame had said at rehearsals. 

Then the curtain fell and June and Jerry 
hurried back of the stage to be in their places. 
The men worked swiftly, setting up the scene. 
A boy was entrusted with Willy, who had been 
taking an active interest in the proceedings. 
Nicodemus was coaxed up an incline to the 
stage, June and Jerry took their places, and the 
curtain rose again. 

The scene was elaborate and brought a 
pleased gasp from the great audience, followed 
by enthusiastic applause. In the background 
was a tower with a pointed roof, and leading to 
it was a cobbled street, and to the right a hint 
of water and a row of trees. It was marvel¬ 
ously well painted. 


HEELS OF NICODEMUS 271 

In the foreground was a camp fire with June 
on one side of it and Jerry on the other. And 
behind them was the painted wagon with Nico- 
demus tethered near by. June wore a full 
skirt of deep yellow, with a bodice of black, 
heavily embroidered in bright colors, and she 
wore her amber earrings. Jerry was resplend- 
ent in a white silk shirt with flowing sleeves, 
and an embroidered waistcoat, and a bright red 
sash. He looked very dashing, but said that he 
felt foolish. 

June thought the songs Paul had suggested 

were rather unusual, and she did not quite 

understand their significance, but the audience 

saw nothing incongruous in them. When Paul 

* 

played Massenet’s Elegie, two of Hershfield’s 
men worked the lights so that the stage dark¬ 
ened to the thick purple of midnight, showing 
up the tiny silver stars around the point of the 
tower, and the silver spangles on the water, 
and the glowing rubies of the camp fire. 

June had been a trifle apprehensive of Elegie, 
but Madame was not affected this time. She 
was very pale, June noticed, and steadfastly 
refused to look in Paul’s direction. Ilis pres¬ 
ence was evidently a strain upon her nerves, 


272 


JUNE'S QUEST 

but her professional training carried her 
through without mishap. 

Hershfield sat in a front seat chewing his 
cigar into shreds, and wriggling in his seat, but 
beaming through it all. Dr. Leopold sat 
quietly, perhaps enjoying it, perhaps bored, but 
betraying no sign of emotion at all. 

The Proven9al lullaby was well received, and 
then Paul played a wild air, which June had 
never remembered hearing before. 

It seemed to screech defiance, to rumble 
threats, and then swung into a stirring march 
with an undercurrent of little running tunes. 
Not one of the audience failed to grasp the fact 
that it was a war song. The stage was com¬ 
pletely dark now, except for the handful of 
embers in the camp fire. Then very softly, 
growing louder, and louder Paul began La 
Marseillaise , and Madame sang it. At the end, 
the curtain fell. 

The applause was so loud and prolonged that 
Paul signaled to June and Jerry to stay where 
they were, and the curtain rose again. It was 
the end of the pageant, and the audience was 
insistent that Paul and Madame appear. So 
with Paul on one end, June and Jerry in the 


HEELS OF NICODEMUS 273 

middle and Madame on the other, they appeared 
before the curtain. Then they stood there 
alone. 

Madame looked straight before her with her 
set, professional smile on her pale face, but 
Paul looked at her. 

“ Thank you,” she murmured, without the 
slightest glance at him, and left him. 

Paul and Dr. Leopold exchanged glances, 
then Paul turned and went back stage. 

Back stage was the usual excitement, and 
added to it was another disturbing element. A 
small bunch of fur flung itself through the cur¬ 
tains, propelled by a veritable frenzy of jeal¬ 
ousy. It hurled itself viciously at Nicodemus 
who was dozing peacefully by the camp fire, 
and gave a shrill yap, half yelp and half snarl. 

Nicodemus went up as if on springs, came 
down and kicked with both heels sending a 
shower of red embers into a mass of scattered ex¬ 
celsior. Before it dawned on the laughing by¬ 
standers that something serious was happening, 
the excelsior was ablaze and before extin¬ 
guishers could be reached and operated, flames 
were licking the painted scene. 

In an instant every one was busily carrying 


274 JUNE’S QUEST 

scenery out of harm’s way, knowing it was too 
late to save the tower, which was blazing. 
Madame came back stage and stopped aghast. 

She looked at the burning tower — the cob¬ 
bled street leading to it — the painted canal and 
the willows beside it, and her eyes widened in 
horror. 

In one bound she had crossed the stage and 
grasped Paul by the arm. She screamed, and 
the scream brought Hershfield and Dr. 
Leopold. 

Paul looked down at her, and her blue eyes 
met his squarely. 

“ It’s on fire! ” she panted. “ Puck! We’ve 
left June in there! ” 

Then she swayed and crumpled up in a little 
heap on the grass. 





Then she crumpled up in a littte heap on the grass. 


Page 274- 








CHAPTER XX 


OUT OF THE MIST 

Of them all, Dr. Leopold was the first to re¬ 
cover from the shock. 

“ Take her to your daughter’s room,” he 
said. 

His crisp command broke the spell. Paul 
picked up the slight, limp figure. Jerry re¬ 
trieved Willy. Max Hershfield ran excitedly 
around, suggesting this and that. Sonia ar¬ 
rived hurriedly and panted after them. And, 
since it was June’s room, and June had the key, 
she trailed along, too. 

June found herself by Dr. Leopold as they 
hurried along. He helped her over the rough 
places in the dark road. 

“ Poor Madame,” she said, softly. “ The 
excitement was too much for her.” 

“ You don’t know the half of it,” said Dr. 
Leopold, gravely, without losing an iota of his 

275 


276 


JUNE’S QUEST 

professional dignity. “ We took a big chance 
— a dangerous one — and almost failed. Per¬ 
haps even so — ” 

June unlocked the door of her room, turned 
on the light, and hesitated in the doorway. 
Paul laid Madame on the bed, then drew back 
into the shadows. June came in, too, and 
joined her father. Dr. Leopold seated him¬ 
self by the bed and watched the still white face, 
now and then feeling her pulse and consulting 

* t . * 

his watch. Sonia fell to her knees beside the 
bed and drew her mistress into her arms. 

The seconds ticked by — heart-beats — 
drops of blood. No one said anything, except 
now and then Sonia would make a low, croon¬ 
ing sound. June was urged to leave, and yet 
impelled to stay. She decided to slip away, 
but Paul’s hand caught her wrist, and she 
obeyed the mute appeal and stayed. The at¬ 
mosphere was electric — charged with some¬ 
thing she did not understand. It bewildered 
her and frightened her and fascinated her, all 

at once. She felt like one of an audience at a 

• 

gripping drama, unable to shake off the sense 
of reality, and yet conscious of its unreality, 
too. 






OUT OF THE MIST 277 

Dr. Leopold’s face was white and strained, 
and his black eyes shone out in striking con¬ 
trast. 

/ Madame sighed. Dr. Leopold leaned for¬ 
ward, eagerly. 

“ Leetle One,” whispered Sonia. “ Eet was 
too much for thee, Leetle One. Rest quietly.” 

Madame’s head moved on the pillow. She 
lifted a hand weakly and let it fall again. 
Then her eyelids flickered and lifted and she 
looked at Sonia for a fraction of a second. 

Paul’s hand closed hard on June’s, and it 
was cold. She could feel the tenseness in the 
arm that touched hers. 

“ Sonia,” whispered Madame. 

“ Leetle One,” crooned Sonia, and the tears 
ran down her face unchecked. “ Sonia told 
you it would be too mooch. Sonia told you — ” 

“ Yes, Sonia. I know.” Then like one 
suddenly aroused from sleep she sat up. 
“ Sonia! Where’s Puck — and June — ” 

Paul came out of the shadows in one long 
stride. “ Here I am.” 

“ Did you get June? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“I mean the first time?” He nodded. 




278 


JUNE’S QUEST 

“ How long has it been? Thirteen years? ” 

“ Fifteen.” 

“ I had forgotten.” She laughed a little, 
shakily. “ Think of it, Sonia. I had forgotten 
all about Paul and June and — even my own 
name.” 

“ Do you remember now? ” She turned 
and looked at Dr. Leopold when he spoke. 

“ Yes, I am Olive Severne, of course. How 
stupid of me not to remember that!” She 
turned to Paul again. “ You look older, Paul. 
Ah, how you must have suffered! ” 

“Suffered! Oh, Olive, Olive!” He 
stumbled toward her, blindly, dropped to his 
knees by the side of the bed, and buried his 
face in his arms. 

She touched his hair lightly with her fingers, 
ran them through it and remembered one day 
seventeen years ago, when he had knelt beside 
her in just that way, after she had come up from 
the valley of the shadow. 

They had forgotten June, and she slipped 
out. Dr. Leopold followed her. There was a 
great light on his face, and triumph shone in 
his eyes. 

“ I am so relieved,” he said. “ I was fright- 


OUT OF THE MIST 279 

ened. What we did was a dangerous thing — 
the music — the setting — all deliberately 
planned. Ah, my young friend,” as Jerry rose 
to meet them at the foot of the stairs. “ It was 
a success!” 

“ Good!” 

“ Did you know? ” asked June. 

“Yes — rather, I suspected that evening 
when she acted so strangely while he was play¬ 
ing. That is when he suspected, too.” He 
gave a half-laugh. “ You don’t sound a bit 
surprised, June.” 

“I’m not — I hardly know how I feel — 
trembly, and teary, and yet I feel like laughing, 
too. I’m so glad, but it’s such a big thing that 
I can’t quite believe it. And Madame of all 
people.” 

“ You’re not disappointed, are you? ” 

“ Oh, no! Now we can all live together and 
be happy ever after! ” 

“ Am I included in that scheme ? ” he laughed, 
seeing the tears in her eyes. 

She laughed at that, as he wanted her to do. 

“ I’m afraid not. Nor Nicodemus. But 
Willy is.” 

But Madame had something to say about it, 







280 JUNE’S QUEST 

so Paul told them the next morning. She had 
definitely refused to take her place with them. 

“ Oh,” gasped June. “ But she can’t! She 
wouldn’t do that, would she? ” 

“ She thinks that after all these years I have 
forgotten her, and don’t care any more — be¬ 
cause of her white hair or some such fantastic 
reason. Perhaps the truth of the matter is 
that she doesn’t care for me any more.” 

“ Oh, but she does,” whispered June. “ She 
does, Dad, because — because I saw her face 
when you — went to her last night. And — 
and then I didn’t look any more because — it 
was sacred — wasn’t it? ” 

“ There was only one other moment in my 
life as sacred as that one,” said Paul, huskily. 

“ Well, then,” said June, triumphantly. 

* 

“ You’ll just have to court her over again.” 

He frowned out across the hills, then he 
turned back to her. “ June,” he said, soberly, 
“ she thinks you don’t want her.” 

“I? Why, Dad! ” 

“ Kid, don’t try to spare my feelings, or sacri¬ 
fice your wishes or anything like that, but tell 
me the plain truth. Do you like her? ” 

* • i 

“ Why, Dad, I think she’s the most perfect 







OUT OF THE MIST 281 

thing I ever knew! I love her, next to you, 
better than any one else in the world! ” 

“ Then why — ? ” 

‘‘Oh — ” June’s eyes darkened with the 
sudden remembrance. “ I think I know! She 
asked me to leave you and live with her and — 
I wouldn’t. That was before either of us 
knew. Of course, I couldn’t leave you, Dad, 
could I? Even if I had known that she was 
my mother — even now, Dad, I wouldn’t leave 
you to live with her! But — she would be ideal 
for a mother.” 

“ That being the case, then,” said Paul with 
his most mischievous, small-boy expression, 
“ I’ll try to dissuade her. You and Willy 
amuse yourself this morning. And if I’m late 
home, don’t drag the lake for my body! ” 

“ It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of,” she 
laughed to herself, after he had gone. “ I am 
sure he won’t have any trouble convincing her 
that she should come with us! ” 

Paul felt the same way, as he blithely set forth 
for the house where Madame lived. 

Sonia met him at the door. She smiled 
broadly, but she shook her head at him. 

“ She is verree deeficult,” she said. “ She 





282 JUNE’S QUEST 

have weeped all the night, and now she is 
cross.” 

“ I’ll take a chance,” laughed Paul and Sonia 
let him into the music-room where Madame sat 
by the piano, her fingers silently resting on the 
keys. 

She looked up as he came in, and looked 
startled. 

“ I’ve come to take you off in Maryanneliza- 
beth,” he said, gaily. 44 Do you remember the 
cart and Anatol? ” 

“ Ah — yes.” 

44 Well, Maryannelizabeth has Anatol beaten 
all hollow. It was not much of an adventure 
to fare forth with Anatol, but with Maryann¬ 
elizabeth — anything might happen. Sonia, 
will you fix us up a lunch? We’ll be gone all 
day.” 

44 Oh, don’t — ” protested Madame, weakly. 
44 I can’t. Paul — you don’t know! I was 
going to take June away from you! I was 
going to — ” 

44 Kidnap her? ” laughed Paul, ringingly. 

44 No. Worse than that. I was going to 
make her turn against you — and come to 


me 







OUT OF THE MIST 283 

“Weren’t you the terrible criminal! 1 ’ he 
laughed. “ What should we do with her, 
Sonia? ” 

Sonia considered. “ Perhaps,” said Sonia, 
slowly, “ if thee would take thy belt to her just 
once — ” 

Paul laughed again. 

“ Don’t,” whispered Madame. “ You’re so 
much, so very much like you used to be, that 
I’m afraid — of myself — ” 


“ Where can he be? ” worried June for the 
hundredth time that evening. 

“ Oh, he’s around somewhere, all right,” said 
Jerry, pretending to be quite at ease. 
“ They’re probably having dinner at 
Madame’s.” 

“ I called up,” said June, “ and Sonia says 
they have not come back. Jerry, it’s ten 
o’clock! ” 

“Think of staying up that late!” he 
remarked with pretended seriousness. 

“ No, but Jerry, I am worried! Anything 
might happen to Maryannelizabeth! Why did 
he take that ramshackle old car, anyway? 




284 JUNE’S QUEST 


Madame’s car with Michael would have been 
much better! ” 

“ Would it? ” 

“ Well, more sensible, at least! ” 

, 

“ Ah, but you see your father is not responsi¬ 
ble just now.” 

June swung across the floor and back rest¬ 
lessly. “ Oh, Jerry, don’t sit there, grinning! 
Do something! Maryannelizabeth may have 
exploded or — or — anything.” 

In that case, what could I do? ” 

Oh, you’re — ” The telephone rang 
shrilly and June answered it. “ Yes — This 
is June — Oh, it’s you, Madame — I mean — 

What has happened ?-Oh-Oh — I 

— I shall — ” 


a 


a 


She set down the instrument and looked at 
Jerry with a comical expression of surprise and 
annoyance. 

Jerry whooped. “ You look just like Nico- 
demus when he kicked the camp fire,” he told 
her. 


“ Thanks. I feel like it. What — oh, 
what do you suppose that crazy pair has done? 
— They’ve eloped in Maryannelizabeth and 
gotten married over again! ” 














t 


CHAPTER XXI 

SANCTUARY 

June surveyed herself in her mirror, criti¬ 
cally. She liked her yellow dress with its 
fluffy skirt. The color was becoming to her, 
too. It accentuated the brown in her hair and 
the amber in her eyes. She decided against 
wearing her topaz earrings, but clasped a string 
of amber beads about her throat. Then she 
added just a touch of orange blossom perfume 
to the flower on her shoulder, and the merest 
hint of a touch behind her ears, and another 
to her upper lip, and laughed at her reflection 
as she did so. 

“ Wasted energy,” she told herself. “ He’ll 
never know the difference.” 

Her powder was orange blossom, too. She 
used it sparingly and looked closely at the 
effect. 

“ You’ll do,” she told herself. 


285 


286 


JUNE’S QUEST 

She gave a lingering look at her room and 
sighed. For the first time in all her life, she 
had a room in her own home! It was wonder¬ 
ful. Downstairs in the living-room a great 
log was laid in the fireplace, and the first fire 
of the season would be kindled there with cere¬ 
mony. Madame and Paul would be there, and 
Sonia, as well as Willy and Mentu-Hotep. 
And Jerry was coming down from college. It 
would be a family ceremony, a solemn one. 

It was almost time for Jerry to arrive. The 
little blue clock on June’s bureau said seven- 
thirty. 

It was one of those warm evenings in early 
fall when summer seems loath to leave. The 
section of sky between the ruffled curtains in 
the casement window, was a deep, Maxfield 
Parrish blue, with a silver sliver of a moon rid¬ 
ing on the tip of a row of poplar-trees. Little 
yellow leaves fluttered down now and then and 
made a golden carpet for the lawn, but the air 
was soft with the illusion of summer. She 
knelt on the window seat and drew in a long 
breath of ecstasy. 

Presently she caught up a thin scarf and 
ran lightly down the stairs. Paul and Madame 


SANCTUARY 


287 

were in the living-room — she could hear their 
low voices — so she did not stop but went out 
the front door, turning on the porch light as 
she passed. 

A tall figure detached itself from the shadows 
by the gate, and she went down the golden path 
of light, over rustling leaves, met Jerry, and 
came back with him. He looked at her in the 
glow of the porch light. 

“ You look just like a tea rose,” he said, “ a 
tea rose out of some enchanted garden of mem¬ 
ory.” And then June was very glad she had 
not forgotten that faint hint of perfume. 
“ We don’t have to go in right away, do we? 
Let’s sit outside a while. I’ve lots of things to 
tell you.” 

The clock in the living-room chimed half-past 
eight. Madame looked at it, and then at Paul, 
who sat on the arm of her chair. 

“ Where is June? ” 

“ Outside,” replied Paul, smiling. 

“ Jerry’s a nice boy,” said Madame with ap¬ 
parent irrelevance. “ And June is seventeen. 
— You know, I was seventeen when I first met 
you. I looked out of my window in the dorm, 
and you passed under and looked up. The 



288 


JUNE’S QUEST 

next time I saw you was when you played Mas- 
senet’s Elegie at a tea in the Dean’s house one 
Sunday afternoon — Do you remember?” 

“ And remember our first camp fire, with the 
water down below us, and the evening mists 
drifting over the tops of the pine trees — ” 

“ And you played it then! Oh, Puck, how 
could I ever have forgotten you? — Please, 
dear, you’re mussing my hair.” 

“ I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what hap¬ 
pened to you between the time I lost you and 
the time you woke up in Russia.” 

“ How can we? Dr. Leopold says I was 
probably struck on the head with something 
and wandered away. He thinks the mental 
and physical shock, combined, was responsible. 
I am willing to let it rest. I wish I could for¬ 
get all of Russia, and its horror and madness 
— all except Sonia. Puck — hold me tightly, 
and don’t ever let me get away again! ” 

June and Jerry came in followed by Willy. 
June’s eyes were wide with dreams and dark 
with secrets, secrets to be told soon, but for a 
while held in the warm cup of her heart. 

Madame called Sonia, who came in with a 
scarf which she put about her mistress’s shoul- 





SANCTUARY 


289 


ders. Madame laughed tenderly as she drew its 
folds closer about her. Then she knelt on the 
hearth rug, while the others stood and watched. 

“The hearth,” she murmured, “ the altar 
of the home.” She touched a match to the 
paper and kindling there. “ May its flame 
burn steadily, purifyingly, and may it always 
be the holy place of the family.” 

They stayed there with heads bent, and 
watched the flames lick the paper first, and then 
the kindling, and then catch the bark of the 
log. Willy sat upon the hearth-rug and 
watched it, gravely, then sank down, put his 
nose between his paws and sighed. Mentu- 
Hotep began to purr comfortably and to blink 
his eyes sleepily. 

There was a catch in June’s throat, and in her 
heart the thrill of a bird that was homing. 
Somewhere, at the turn of another road there 
was another dream house, with a blue door and 
a brass knocker, and blue-banded curtains and 
pink geraniums at the windows — more than 
a house, a home with a glowing hearth-fire — a 
sanctuary. 

Paul took up his violin and swept the strings 
softly like a sigh. 


290 JUNE’S QUEST 

j 

“ Play Elegie” said Madame and June, 
both at once, and then they looked at each other 
and smiled. And so Paul played, and they 
whose hearts were overflowing with happiness 
listened with tears in their eyes. For happiness 
is ever akin to sorrow, and as closely bound to 
grief as the hearts of lovers are bound to each 
other, or as the hearth and the flame. 


THE END 





4 


























































































































































